•■^^^ 
 
 foi;T4>^ 
 
 
 »;;:;^::::^■■v■^- 
 
 ■i^^^:' 
 
 %:: ■■■' 
 
Class _px461L- 
 
 CopightM". 
 
 CQEOUCHT DKPOSrr. 
 
A 
 CHRISTMAS CAROT. 
 
 AND 
 
 THE CRICKET ON 
 THE HEARTH 
 
 By CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS 
 
 # 
 
 THE BAKER ^ TAYLOR COMPANY 
 |)n bit 6 beret 
 
 33-37 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET (UNION SQUARE) 
 New York 
 
Copyright, 11)05, ^i/Tut; IUkkh & Tayloij Company 
 
 
 
 TA*" Plimpton Press Nort(x)od Mass. U.S.A. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE combined qualities of the realist and the idealist 
 which Dickens posssessed to a remarkable degree, 
 together with his naturally jovial attitude toward life 
 in general, seem to have given him a remarkably happy feeling 
 toward Christmas, though the privations and hardships of his 
 boyhood could have allowed him but little real experience with 
 this day of days. 
 
 Dickens gave his first formal expression to his Christmas 
 thoughts in his series of small books, the first of which was 
 the famous "Christmas Carol," the one perfect chrysolite. 
 The success of the book was immediate. Thackeray wrote of 
 it: "Who can listen to objections regarding such a book as 
 this ? It seems to me a national benefit, and to every man 
 or woman who reads it, a j)ersonaI kindness." 
 
 This volume was put forth in a very attractive manner, 
 with illustrations by John Leech, who was the first artist to make 
 these characters live, and his drawings were varied and sj)irited. 
 
 There followed u{)on tliis four others: "The C'liimes," 
 "The Cricket on the Hearth," "The Battle of Life," and "The 
 Haunted Man," witli illustrations on their first appearance by 
 Doyle, Maclise, and others. The five are known to-day as the 
 " Christmas Books." Of them all the " Carol" is tlu^ best known 
 and loved, and "The Cricket on the Hearth," although third in 
 the series, is perhaps next in point of popularity, and is es- 
 pecially familiar to Americans through Josej)h Jefferson's 
 characterisation of Caleb Plummer. 
 
 Dickens seems to have i)ut his whole self into these glowing 
 little stories. Whoever sees but a clever ghost story in the 
 
iv Introduction 
 
 "Christmas Carol" misses its chief charm and lesson, for there 
 is a different meaning in the movements of Scrooge and his 
 attendant spirits. A new life is brought to Scrooge when he, 
 "running to his window, 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 sun-light; Heavenly sky; sweet 
 fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious! Glorious!" All this 
 brightness has its attendant shadow, and deep from the child- 
 ish heart comes that true note of pathos, the ever memorable 
 toast of Tiny Tim, " God bless Us, Every One ! " " The Cricket 
 on the Hearth" strikes a different note. Charmingly, poeti- 
 cally, the sweet chirping of the little cricket is associated with 
 human feelings and actions, and at the crisis of the story decides 
 the fate and fortune of the carrier and his wife. 
 
 Dickens's greatest gift was characterization, and no English 
 writer, save Shakespeare, has drawn so many and so varied 
 characters. It would be as absurd to interpret all of these as 
 caricatures as to deny Dickens his great and varied powers 
 of creation. Dickens exaggerated many of his comic and satiri- 
 cal characters, as was his right, for caricature and satire are 
 very closely related, while exaggeration is the very essence of 
 comedy. But there remains a host of characters marked by 
 humour and pathos. Yet the pictorial presentation of Dickens's 
 characters has ever tended toward the grotesque. The inter- 
 pretations in this volume aim to eliminate the grosser phases 
 of the caricature in favour of the more human. If the inter- 
 pretations seem novel, if Scrooge be not as he has been pic- 
 tured, it is because a more human Scrooge was desired — a 
 Scrooge not wholly bad, a Scrooge of a better heart, a Scrooge 
 to whom the resurrection described in this story was possible. 
 It has been the illustrator's whole aim to make these people 
 live in some form more fully consistent with their types. 
 
 George Alfred Williams. 
 
 Chatham, N. J. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 STAVE 
 I 
 
 II 
 
 III 
 
 IV 
 V 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Marley*s Ghost 
 
 The First of the Three Spirits 
 
 The Second of the Three Spirits 
 
 The Last of the Spirits 
 
 The End of it , 
 
 PAGE 
 11 
 
 32 
 51 
 76 
 93 
 
 THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH 
 
 Chirp the First 1^^ 
 
 Chirp the Second ....•••• ^^^ 
 Chirp the Third 1^5 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 " He had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church." Frontispiece 
 
 Facing 
 Page 
 
 " A Merry Christmas, Uncle 1 God save you ! " cried a cheerful 
 
 voice." ......... 14 / 
 
 To sit staring at those fixed glazed eyes in silence, for a moment, 
 
 would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. . . 26 ^ 
 
 " You recollect tJie way ? " inquired the spirit. " Remember it I " 
 
 cried Scrooge, with fervour ; " / could walk it blindfold." . 36 
 
 "Why, it's AH Baba!" Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. '"It's dear old 
 
 honest AH Baba / " . . . . . . , 38 ' 
 
 THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH 
 
 " Father, I am lonely in the dark. I want my eyes, my patient, 
 
 willing eyes." . . . . . . . .103 
 
 "A dot and — " here he glanced at the baby — "-4 dot and carry — 
 / won't say it, for fear I should spoil it ; but I was very near 
 a joke." ......... 108 
 
 Tilly Slowboy 112 
 
 " That's the way I found him, sitting by the roadside I Upright as 
 
 a milestone." . . • • • • • 118 
 
 When suddenly, the struggling fire illuminated the whole chimney 
 with a glow of light ; and the Cricket on the Hearth began 
 
 to chirp ! 
 
 166 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 

 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 AND 
 
 THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 3n Pro0e 
 
 BEING A GHOST STORY OF CHRISTMAS 
 
 STAVE ONE 
 
 marley's ghost 
 
 MARLEY was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt 
 whatever about that. The register of his burial 
 was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the under- 
 taker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's 
 name was good upon 'Change for anything he chose to put his 
 hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. 
 
 Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowl- 
 edge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I 
 might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the 
 deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom 
 of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands 
 shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will, there- 
 fore, permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as 
 dead as a door-nail. 
 
 Scrooge knew he was dead ? Of course he did. How could 
 it be otherwise.^ Scrooge and he were partners for I don't 
 know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole 
 
 V 
 
12 A Christmas Carol 
 
 administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole 
 friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dread- 
 fully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man 
 of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it 
 with an undoubted bargain. 
 
 The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the 
 point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. 
 This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can 
 come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not 
 perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play 
 began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking 
 a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ram- 
 parts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gen- 
 tleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot — say St. 
 Paul's Church-yard, for instance — literally to astonish his son's 
 weak mind. 
 
 Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There it 
 stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge 
 and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. 
 Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge, 
 and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It 
 was all the same to him. 
 
 Oh ! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge ! 
 a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, 
 old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had 
 ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and 
 solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, 
 nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; 
 made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly 
 in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on 
 his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low tem- 
 perature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog- 
 days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas. 
 
 External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No 
 
=q55 
 
 A Christmas Carol 13 
 
 warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind 
 that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent 
 upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul 
 weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain, 
 and snow, and hail, and sleet could boast of the advantage over 
 him in only one respect. They often "came down" handsomely 
 and Scrooge never did. 
 
 Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome 
 looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you.^ When will you come 
 to see me.^" No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no 
 children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever 
 once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, 
 of Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know 
 him; and, when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners 
 into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails 
 as though they said, "No eye at all is better than an evil eye, 
 dark master!" 
 
 But what did Scrooge care ? It was the very thing he liked. 
 To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all 
 human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing 
 ones call "nuts" to Scrooge. 
 
 Once upon a time — of all the good days in the year, on 
 Christmas Eve — old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. 
 It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could 
 hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down, 
 beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet 
 upon the pavement stones to warm them. The City clocks had 
 only just gone three, but it was quite dark already — it had not 
 been light all day — and candles were flaring in the windows 
 of the neighbouring oflices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable 
 brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and key- 
 hole, and was so dense without, that, although the court was of 
 the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To 
 see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, 
 
14 A Christmas Carol 
 
 one might have thought that nature lived hard by, and was 
 brewing on a large scale. 
 
 The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open, that he 
 might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell 
 beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a 
 very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller 
 that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for 
 Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the 
 clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would 
 be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his 
 white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in 
 which effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed. 
 
 "A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheer- 
 ful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came 
 upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had 
 of his approach. 
 
 "Bah!" said Scrooge. "Humbug!" 
 
 He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and 
 frost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his 
 face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath 
 smoked again. 
 
 "Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. 
 "You don't mean that, I am sure.?" 
 
 "I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right 
 have you to be merry.? What reason have you to be merry.? 
 You're poor enough." 
 
 "Come, then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right 
 have you to be dismal ? What reason have you to be morose ? 
 You're rich enough." 
 
 Scrooge, having no better answer ready on the spur of the 
 moment, said, "Bah!" again; and followed it up with "Hum^ 
 bug!" 
 
 "Don't be cross,^ uncle!" said the nephew. 
 
 "What else can I be," returned the uncle, "when I live in 
 
"A Merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. 
 
A Christmas Carol 15 
 
 such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon 
 merry Christmas! What's Christmas-time to you but a time 
 for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a 
 year older, and not an hour richer; a time for balancing your 
 books, and having every item in 'em through a round dozen 
 of months presented dead against you ? If I could work my 
 will," said Scrooge indignantly, *' every idiot who goes about 
 with * Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his 
 own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his 
 heart. He should!" 
 
 "Uncle!" pleaded the nephew. 
 
 "Nephew!" returned the uncle sternly, "keep Christmas 
 in your own way, and let me keep it in mine." 
 
 "Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't 
 keep it." 
 
 "Let me leave it alone, then," said Scrooge. "Much good 
 may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!" 
 
 "There are many things from which I might have derived 
 good, by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the 
 nephew; "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have 
 always thought of Christmas-time, when it has come round — 
 apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if 
 anything belonging to it can be apart from that — as a good 
 time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I 
 know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women 
 seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to 
 think of people below them as if they really were fellow-pas- 
 sengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on 
 other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put 
 a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done 
 me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!" 
 
 The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming 
 immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and 
 extinguished the last frail spark for ever. 
 
i6 A Christmas Carol 
 
 "Let me hear another sound from ?/ow," said Scrooge, "and 
 you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! You're 
 quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. 
 "I wonder you don't go into Parliament." 
 
 "Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow." 
 
 Scrooge said that he would see him Yes, indeed he 
 
 did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that 
 he would see him in that extremity first. 
 
 "But why.?" cried Scrooge's nephew. "Why.?^" 
 
 "Why did you get married.?" said Scrooge. 
 
 "Because I fell in love." 
 
 "Because you fell in love!" growled Scrooge, as if that were 
 the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry 
 Christmas. "Good afternoon!" 
 
 "Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that 
 happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now.?" 
 
 "Good afternoon," said Scrooge. 
 
 "I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot 
 we be friends.?" 
 
 "Good afternoon!" said Scrooge. 
 
 " I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We 
 have never had any quarrel to which I have been a party. But I 
 have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my 
 Christmas humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle 1" 
 
 " Good afternoon," said Scrooge. 
 
 "And A Happy New Year!" 
 
 "Good afternoon!" said Scrooge. 
 
 His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwith- 
 standing. He stopped at the outer door to bestow the greet- 
 ings of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer 
 than Scrooge ; for he returned them cordially. 
 
 "There's another fellow," muttered Scrooge, who overheard 
 him: "my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and 
 family, talking about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam." 
 
A Christmas Carol 17 
 
 This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two 
 other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to 
 behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge's office. 
 They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him. 
 
 "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of the gentle- 
 men, referring to his list. "Have I the pleasure of addressing 
 Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley.?" 
 
 "Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years," Scrooge 
 replied. "He died seven years ago, this very night." 
 
 "We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his 
 surviving partner," said the gentleman, presenting his creden- 
 tials. 
 
 It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At 
 the ominous word "liberality" Scrooge frowned, and shook his 
 head, and handed the credentials back. 
 
 "At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the 
 gentleman, taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable 
 that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and 
 destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thou- 
 sands are in want of common necessaries ; hundreds of thousands 
 are in want of common comforts, sir." 
 
 "Are there no prisons.'^" asked Scrooge. 
 
 "Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the 
 pen again. 
 
 "And the Union workhouses.?" demanded Scrooge. "Are 
 they still in operation.?" 
 
 "They are. Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I 
 could say they were not." 
 
 "The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then .?" 
 said Scrooge. 
 
 "Both very busy, sir." 
 
 "Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that some- 
 thing had occurred to stop them in their useful course," said 
 Scrooge. "I am very glad to hear it." 
 
i8 A Christmas Carol 
 
 "Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian 
 cheer of mind or body to the multitude," returned the gentle- 
 man, " a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the 
 Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose 
 this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly 
 felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for .^" 
 
 "Nothing!" Scrooge replied. 
 
 "You wish to be anonymous.^" 
 
 "I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge. "Since you ask me 
 what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry 
 myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people 
 merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned 
 — they cost enough : and those who are badly off must go there." 
 
 "Many can't go there; and many would rather die." 
 
 "If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better 
 do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides — excuse 
 me — I don't know that." 
 
 "But you might know it," observed the gentleman. 
 
 "It's not my business," Scrooge returned. "It's enough 
 for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere 
 with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good 
 afternoon, gentlemen ! ' ' 
 
 Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, 
 the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours with an 
 improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetious temper 
 than was usual with him. 
 
 Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people 
 ran about with flaring links, proffering their services to go be- 
 fore horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way. The 
 ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always 
 peeping slily down at Scrooge out of a Gothic window in the 
 wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the 
 clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards, as if its teeth 
 were chattering in its frozen head up there. The cold became 
 
A Christmas Carol 19 
 
 intense. In the main street, at the corner of the court, some 
 labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and had Hghted a great 
 fire in a brazier, round which a party of ragged men and boys 
 were gathered: warming their hands and winking their eyes 
 before the blaze in rapture. The water-plug being left in soli- 
 tude, its overflowings suddenly congealed, and turned to mis- 
 anthropic ice. The brightness of the shops, where holly sprigs 
 and berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows, made 
 pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers' and grocers' 
 trades became a splendid joke: a glorious pageant, with which 
 it was next to impossible to believe that such dull principles as 
 bargain and sale had anything to do. The Lord Mayor, in the 
 stronghold of the mighty Mansion House, gave orders to his 
 fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor's 
 household should; and even the little tailor, whom he had fined 
 five shillings on the previous Monday for being drunk and blood- 
 thirsty in the streets, stirred up to-morrow's pudding in his 
 garret, while his lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the 
 beef. 
 
 Foggier yet, and colder! Piercing, searching, biting cold. 
 If the good St. Dunstan had but nipped the Evil Spirit's nose 
 with a touch of such weather as that, instead of using his familiar 
 weapons, then indeed he would have roared to lusty purpose. 
 The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbled by 
 the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down at 
 Scrooge's keyhole to regale him with a Christmas carol; but, at 
 the first sound of 
 
 " God bless you, merry gentleman, 
 May nothing you dismay!" 
 
 Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action, that the 
 singer fled in terror, leaving the keyhole to the fog, and even 
 more congenial frost. 
 
 At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. 
 
20 A Christmas Carol 
 
 With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly 
 admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the tank, who in- 
 stantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat. 
 
 "You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?" said Scrooge. 
 
 "If quite convenient, sir." 
 
 "It's not convenient," said Scrooge, "and it's not fair. If 
 I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill used, 
 I'll be bound.?" 
 
 The clerk smiled faintly. 
 
 "And yet," said Scrooge, "you don't think me ill used when 
 I pay a day's wages for no work." 
 
 The clerk observed that it was only once a year. 
 
 "A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty- 
 fifth of December!" said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to 
 the chin. "But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be 
 here all the earlier next morning." 
 
 The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out 
 with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the 
 clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below 
 his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide on 
 Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour 
 of its beintr Christmas-eve, and then ran home to Camden Town 
 as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's butf . 
 
 Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy 
 tavern; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the 
 rest of the evening with his banker's book, went home to bed. 
 He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased 
 partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering 
 pile of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, 
 that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there 
 when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other 
 houses, and have forgotten the way out again. It was old 
 enouc]:h now, and drearv enough; for nobodv lived in it but 
 Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices. The yard 
 
A Christmas Carol 21 
 
 was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was 
 fain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung about 
 the black old gateway of the house, that it seemed as if the 
 Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation on the 
 threshold. 
 
 Now, it is a fact that there was nothing at all particular 
 about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. 
 It is also a fact that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, 
 during his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had 
 as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the 
 City of London, even including — which is a bold word — the 
 corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in 
 mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley 
 since his last mention of his seven-years'-dead partner that 
 afternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, 
 how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock 
 of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any 
 intermediate process of change — not a knocker, but Marley's 
 face. 
 
 Marley's face. It was not in impenetrable shadow, as the 
 other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, 
 like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or fero- 
 cious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look : with ghostly 
 spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was 
 curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air; and, though the eyes 
 were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its 
 livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in 
 spite of the face, and beyond its control, rather than a part of 
 its own expression. 
 
 As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a 
 knocker again. 
 
 To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not 
 conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger 
 from infancy, would be untrue. But he put his hand upon the 
 
22 A Christmas Carol 
 
 key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and 
 lighted his candle. 
 
 He did pause, with a moment's irresolution, before he shut 
 the door; and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half 
 expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley's pigtail sticking 
 out into the hall. But there was nothing on the back of the door, 
 except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he said, 
 "Pooh, pooh!" and closed it with a bang. 
 
 The sound resounded through the house like thunder. 
 Every room above, and every cask in the wine merchant's 
 cellars below, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its 
 own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He 
 fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs : 
 slowly, too: trimming his candle as he went. 
 
 You may talk vaguely about driving a coach and six up a 
 good old flight of stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parlia- 
 ment; but I mean to say you might have got a hearse up that 
 staircase, and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards 
 the wall, and the door towards the balustrades: and done it 
 easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room to spare; 
 which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a 
 locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half-a- 
 dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn't have lighted the 
 entry too well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with 
 Scrooge's dip. 
 
 Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness 
 is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But, before he shut his heavy 
 door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. He 
 had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that. 
 
 Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room. All as they should 
 be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small 
 fire in the grate; spoon and basin ready; and the little saucepan 
 of gruel (Scrooge had a cold in his head) upon the hob. No- 
 body under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing- 
 
A Christmas Carol 23 
 
 gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against 
 the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, 
 two fish baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker. 
 
 Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; 
 double locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus 
 secured against surprise, he took off his cravat; put on his dress- 
 ing-gown and slippers, and his nightcap; and sat down before 
 the fire to take his gruel. 
 
 It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. 
 He was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he 
 could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a hand- 
 ful of fuel. The fire-place was an old one, built by some Dutch 
 merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint Dutch 
 tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures. There were Cains 
 and Abels, Pharaoh's daughters. Queens of Sheba, Angelic 
 messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather 
 beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to sea in 
 butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts; and 
 yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient 
 Prophet's rod, and swallowed up the whole. If each smooth 
 tile had been a blank at first, with power to shape some picture 
 on its surface from the disjointed fragments of his thoughts, 
 there would have been a copy of old Marley's head on every 
 one. 
 
 ''Humbug!" said Scrooge; and walked across the room. 
 
 After several turns he sat down again. As he threw his head 
 back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a 
 disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated, for 
 some purpose now forgotten, with a chamber in the highest 
 story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with 
 a strange, inexplicable dread, that, as he looked, he saw this 
 bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it 
 scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did 
 every bell in the house. 
 
24 A Christmas Carol 
 
 This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it 
 seemed an hour. The bells ceased, as they had begun, together. 
 They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, 
 as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks 
 in the wine merchant's cellar. Scrooge then remembered to 
 have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as 
 dragging chains. 
 
 The cellar door flew open with a booming sound, and then 
 he heard the noise much louder on the floors below ; then coming 
 up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door. 
 
 "It's humbug still!" said Scrooge. "I won't believe it." 
 
 His colour changed, though, when, without a pause, it came 
 on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before 
 his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as 
 though it cried, "I know him! Marley's Ghost!" and fell again. 
 
 The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual 
 waistcoat, tights, and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, 
 like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. 
 The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, 
 and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (for Scrooge 
 observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, 
 deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was trans- 
 parent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through 
 his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. 
 
 Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, 
 but he had never believed it until now. 
 
 No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the 
 phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; 
 though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and 
 marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its 
 head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he 
 was still incredulous, and fought against his senses. 
 
 "How now!" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What 
 do you want with me ?" 
 
A Christmas Carol 25 
 
 "Much!" — Marley's voice, no doubt about it. 
 
 **Who are you?" 
 
 "Ask me who I was,'' 
 
 "Who were you, then?" said Scrooge, raising his voice. 
 "You're particular, for a shade." He was going to say "to a 
 shade," but substituted this, as more appropriate. 
 
 "In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley." 
 
 "Can you — can you sit down?" asked Scrooge, looking 
 doubtfully at him. 
 
 "lean." 
 
 "Do it, then." 
 
 Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether 
 a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take 
 a chair; and felt that, in the event of its being impossible, it 
 might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. 
 But the Ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fire-place, 
 as if he were quite used to it. 
 
 "You don't believe in me," observed the Ghost. 
 
 "I don't," said Scrooge. 
 
 "What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that 
 of your own senses ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Scrooge. 
 
 "Why do you doubt your senses ?" 
 
 "Because," said Scrooge, "a little thing affects them. A 
 slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may 
 be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, 
 a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy 
 than of grave about you, whatever you are!" 
 
 Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did 
 he feel in his heart by any means waggish then. The truth is, 
 that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own 
 attention, and keeping down his terror; for the spectre's voice 
 disturbed the very marrow in his bones. 
 
 To sit staring at those fixed glazed eyes in silence, for a 
 
26 A Christmas Carol 
 
 moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. 
 There was something very awful, too, in the spectre's being 
 provided with an infernal atmosphere of his own. Scrooge 
 could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case ; for though 
 the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and 
 tassels were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven. 
 
 "You see this toothpick.?" said Scrooge, returning quickly 
 to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though 
 it were only for a second, to divert the vision's stony gaze from 
 himself. 
 
 "I do," replied the Ghost. 
 
 "You are not looking at it," said Scrooge. 
 
 "But I see it," said the Ghost, "notwithstanding." 
 
 "Well!" returned Scrooge, "I have but to swallow this, and 
 be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all 
 of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you; humbug!" 
 
 At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain 
 with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on 
 tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon. But 
 how much greater was his horror when the phantom, taking off 
 the bandage round his head, as if it were too warm to wear in- 
 doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast! 
 
 Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before 
 his face. 
 
 "Mercy!" he said. "Dreadful apparition, why do you 
 trouble me.?" 
 
 "Man of the worldly mind!" replied the Ghost, "do you 
 believe in me or not.?" 
 
 "I do," said Scrooge. "I must. But why do spirits walk 
 the earth, and why do they come to me .?" 
 
 "It is required of every man," the Ghost returned, "that 
 the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow- 
 men, and travel far and wide; and, if that spirit goes not forth 
 in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to 
 
A Christmas Carol 27 
 
 wander through the world — oh, woe is me ! — and witness 
 what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and 
 turned to happiness!" 
 
 Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and 
 wrung its shadowy hands. 
 
 "You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembUng. "Tell me 
 why?" 
 
 "I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I 
 made it link by link, and yard by yard ; I girded it on of my own 
 free-will, and of my own free-will I wore it. Is its pattern 
 strange to you?''' 
 
 Scrooge trembled more and more. 
 
 "Or would you know," pursued the Ghost, "the weight and 
 length of the strong coil you bear yourself ? It was full as heavy 
 and as long as this, seven Christmas-eves ago. You have 
 laboured on it since. It is a ponderous chain!" 
 
 Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation 
 of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms 
 of iron cable, but he could see nothing. 
 
 "Jacob!" he said imploringly. "Old Jacob Marley, tell 
 me more! Speak comfort to me, Jacob!" 
 
 "I have none to give," the Ghost replied. "It comes from 
 other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other 
 ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I 
 would. A very little more is all permitted to me. I cannot 
 rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never 
 walked beyond our counting-house — mark me; — in life my 
 spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money- 
 changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!" 
 
 It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, 
 to put his hands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what 
 the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his 
 eyes, or getting off his knees. 
 
 "You must have been very slow about it, Jacob," Scrooge 
 
28 A Christmas Carol 
 
 observed in a business-like manner, though with humility and 
 deference. 
 
 "Slow!" the Ghost repeated. 
 
 "Seven years dead," mused Scrooge. "And travelling all 
 the time.'*" 
 
 "The whole time," said the Ghost. "No rest, no peace. 
 Incessant torture of remorse." 
 
 "You travel fast.^" said Scrooge. 
 
 " On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost. 
 
 "You might have got over a great quantity of ground in 
 seven years," said Scrooge. 
 
 The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked 
 its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the 
 Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance. 
 
 "Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed," cried the phantom, 
 "not to know that ages of incessant labour, by immortal crea- 
 tures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of 
 which it is susceptible is all developed! Not to know that any 
 Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it 
 may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of 
 usefulness! Not to know that no space of regret can make 
 amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I! 
 Oh, such was I!" 
 
 "But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," 
 faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself. 
 
 "Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. 
 "Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my 
 business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were, 
 all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of 
 water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!" 
 
 It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause 
 of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground 
 again. 
 
 "At this time of the rolling year," the spectre said, "I suffer 
 
A Christmas Carol 29 
 
 most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with 
 my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star 
 which led the Wise Men to a poor abode ? Were there no poor 
 homes to which its light would have conducted me F" 
 
 Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going 
 on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly. 
 
 "Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone." 
 
 **I will," said Scrooge. "But don't be hard upon me! 
 Don't be flowery, Jacob! Pray!" 
 
 " How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can 
 see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and 
 many a day." 
 
 It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped 
 the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 "That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost. 
 " I am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance and 
 hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, 
 Ebenezer." 
 
 "You were always a good friend to me," said Scrooge. 
 "Thankee!" 
 
 "You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three 
 Spirits." 
 
 Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's had 
 done. 
 
 "Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?" he 
 demanded in a faltering voice. 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "I — I think I'd rather not," said Scrooge. 
 
 "Without their visits," said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to 
 shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow when the 
 bell tolls One." 
 
 "Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob .'^'^ 
 hinted Scrooge. 
 
 "Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. 
 
30 A Christmas Carol 
 
 The third, upon the next night when the hist stroke of Twelve 
 has eeasod to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, 
 for your own sake, you remember what has {)assed between us!" 
 
 When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper 
 from the table, and bound it round its head as before. Scroosre 
 knew this by the smart sound its teeth made when the jaws were 
 brouglit together by the bandage. He ventured to raise his 
 eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in 
 an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm. 
 
 The apparition walked backward from him; and, at every 
 step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that, when the 
 spectre reached it, it was wide open. It beckoned Scrooge to 
 approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of 
 each other, Marley's Ghost held up its hand, warning him to 
 come no nearer. Scrooge stop})ed. 
 
 Not so nuich in obedience as in surprise and fear; for, on 
 the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises 
 in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings 
 inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The S{)ectre, after 
 listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated 
 out upon the bleak, dark night. 
 
 Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. 
 He looked out. 
 
 The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and 
 thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one 
 of them wore chains like Marley's Ghost; some few (they might 
 be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free. 
 INlany had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. He 
 had been (|uite familiar with one old ghost in a white waist- 
 coat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who 
 cried }Mteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with 
 an infant, whom it saw below upon a doorstep. The misery 
 with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for 
 good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever. 
 
A Christmas Carol 31 
 
 Wliether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded 
 them, he could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded 
 together; and the night became as it had been when he walked 
 home. 
 
 Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which 
 the Ghost had entered. It was double locked, as he had locked 
 it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He 
 tried to say "Humbug!" but stopped at the first syllable. And 
 being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of 
 the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull con- 
 versation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need 
 of repose, went straight to bed without undressing, and fell 
 asleep upon the instant. 
 
STAVE TWO 
 
 THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS 
 
 WHEN Scrooge awoke it was so dark, that, looking out of 
 bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent win- 
 dow from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeav- 
 ouring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the 
 chimes of a neighbouring church struck the four quarters. So 
 he listened for the hour. 
 
 To his great astonishment, the heavy bell went on from six 
 to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve; 
 then stopped. Twelve! It was past two when he went to bed. 
 The clock was wrong. An icicle must have got into the works. 
 Twelve! 
 
 He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most 
 preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve, and 
 stopped. 
 
 "Why, it isn't possible," said Scrooge, "that I can have 
 slept through a whole day and far into another night. It isn't 
 possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is 
 twelve at noon!" 
 
 The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed, 
 and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub the 
 frost off with the sleeve of his dressing-gown before he could 
 see anything; and could see very little then. All he could make 
 out was, that it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and that 
 there was no noise of people running to and fro, and making a 
 great stir, as there unquestionably would have been if night had 
 beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the world. This 
 
Christmas Carol 33 
 
 was a great relief, because "Three days after sight of this First 
 of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order," and so 
 forth, would have become a mere United States security if there 
 were no days to count by. 
 
 Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and 
 thought it over and over, and could make nothing of it. The 
 more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and, the more he 
 endeavoured not to think, the more he thought. 
 
 Mar ley's Ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time he 
 resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a 
 dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, 
 to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked 
 all through, *'Was it a dream or not.?" 
 
 Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three 
 quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the 
 Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. 
 He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, con- 
 sidering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, 
 this was, perhaps, the wisest resolution in his power. 
 
 The quarter was so long, that he was more than once con- 
 vinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed 
 the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear. 
 
 "Ding, dong!" 
 
 "A quarter past," said Scrooge, counting. 
 
 "Ding, dong!" 
 
 "Half past," said Scrooge. 
 
 "Ding, dong!" 
 
 "A quarter to it," said Scrooge. 
 
 "Ding, dong!" 
 
 "The hour itself," said Scrooge triumphantly, "and nothing 
 else!" 
 
 He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with 
 a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy One. Light flashed up in the 
 room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn. 
 
34 
 
 A Christmas Carol 
 
 The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a 
 hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, 
 but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains of his 
 bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half- 
 recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly 
 visitor who drew them : as close to it as I am now to you, and I 
 am standing in the spirit at your elbow. 
 
 It was a strange figure — like a child : yet not so like a child 
 as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, 
 which gave him the appearance of having receded from the 
 view, and being diminished to a child's proportions. Its hair, 
 which hung about its neck and down its back, was white, as if 
 with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the 
 tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and 
 muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon 
 strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like 
 those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest 
 white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen 
 of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly 
 in its hand: and, in singular contradiction of that wintry em- 
 blem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the 
 strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head 
 there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was 
 visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in 
 its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now 
 held under its arm. 
 
 Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing 
 steadiness, was not its strangest quality. For, as its belt sparkled 
 and glittered, now in one part and now in another, and what 
 was light one instant at another time was dark, so the figure 
 itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one 
 arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs 
 without a head, now a head without a body : of which dissolving 
 parts no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein 
 
A Christmas Carol 35 
 
 they melted away. And, in the very wonder of this, it would be 
 itself again; distinct and clear as ever. 
 
 "Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" 
 asked Scrooge. 
 
 "lam!" 
 
 The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if, in- 
 stead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance. 
 
 "Who and what are you ?" Scrooge demanded. 
 
 "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past." 
 
 "Long Past .5^" inquired Scrooge; observant of its dwarfish 
 stature. 
 
 "No. Your past." 
 
 Perhaps Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if any- 
 body could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see 
 the Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed the Ghost, "would you so soon put out, 
 with worldly hands, the light I give ? Is it not enough that you 
 are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me 
 through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow.?" 
 
 Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend or any 
 knowledge of having wilfully "bonneted" the Spirit at any 
 period of his life. He then made bold to inquire what business 
 brought him there. 
 
 "Your welfare!" said the Ghost. 
 
 Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help 
 thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more 
 conducive to that end. The Spirit must have heard him think- 
 ing, for it said immediately: 
 
 "Your reclamation, then. Take heed!" 
 
 It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently 
 by the arm. 
 
 "Rise! and walk with me!" 
 
 It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the 
 weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; 
 
36 A Christmas Carol 
 
 that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below 
 freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing- 
 gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon him at that 
 time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not 
 to be resisted. He rose: but, finding that the Spirit made 
 towards the window, clasped its robe in supplication. 
 
 *'I am a mortal," Scrooge remonstrated, "and liable to fall." 
 
 *' Bear but a touch of my hand thercy'' said the Spirit, laying 
 it upon his heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!" 
 
 As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, 
 and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. 
 The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be 
 seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it 
 was a clear, cold, winter day, with the snow upon the ground. 
 
 "Good Heaven!" said Scrooge, clasping his hands together 
 as he looked about him. "I was bred in this place. I was 
 a boy here!" 
 
 The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though 
 it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to 
 the old man's sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thou- 
 sand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thou- 
 sand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long for- 
 gotten ! 
 
 "Your lip is trembling," said the Ghost. "And whxat is 
 that upon your cheek .^" 
 
 Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, 
 that it was a pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where 
 he would. 
 
 "You recollect the way?" inquired the Spirit. 
 
 "Remember it!" cried Scrooge with fervour; "I could walk 
 it bhndfold." 
 
 "Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!" observed 
 the Ghost. " Let us go on." 
 
 They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising every 
 
A Christmas Carol 37 
 
 gate, and post, and tree, until a little market-town appeared in 
 the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. 
 Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with 
 boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs 
 and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great 
 spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so 
 full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it. 
 
 *' These are but shadows of the things that have been," said 
 the Ghost. "They have no consciousness of us." 
 
 The jocund travellers came on; and as they came, Scrooge 
 knew and named them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond 
 all bounds to see them ? Why did his cold eye glisten, and his 
 heart leap up as they went past ? Why was he filled with glad- 
 ness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as 
 they parted at cross-roads and by-ways for their several homes ? 
 What was merry Christmas to Scrooge.^ Out upon merry 
 Christmas ! What good had it ever done to him ? 
 
 "The school is not quite deserted," said the Ghost. "A 
 solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still." 
 
 Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed. 
 
 They left the high-road by a well-remembered lane, and soon 
 approached a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weather- 
 cock surmounted cupola on the roof and a bell hanging in it. 
 It was a large house, but one of broken fortunes : for the spacious 
 offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their 
 windows broken, and their gates decayed. Fowls clucked and 
 strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses and sheds were 
 overrun with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its ancient 
 state within; for, entering the dreary hall, and glancing through 
 the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, 
 cold, and vast. There was an earthly savour in the air, a chilly 
 bareness in the place, which associated itself somehow with too 
 much getting up by candle-light, and not too much to eat. 
 
 They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door 
 
38 A Christmas Carol 
 
 at the back of the house. It opened before them, and dis- 
 closed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by 
 lines of plain deal forms and desks. At one of these a lonely 
 boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon 
 a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he had used 
 to be. 
 
 Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scufl3e 
 from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the haK- 
 thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh anio: 
 the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swin. 
 ing of an empty storehouse door, no, not a clickiiig in the firt, 
 but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with softening H^jfr^'je, and 
 gave a freer passage to his teal's. 
 
 The Spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his 
 younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man in 
 foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood 
 outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading 
 by the bridle an ass laden with wood. 
 
 "Why, it*s Ali Baba!" Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. "It's 
 dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I know. One Christmas- 
 time when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did 
 come, for the first time, just like that. Poor boy! And Valen- 
 tine," said Scrooge, "and his wild brother, Orson; there they 
 go! And what's his name, who was put down in his drawers, 
 asleep, at the gate of Damascus; don't you see him.^ And the 
 Sultan's Groom turned upside down by the Genii: there he is 
 upon his head! Serve him right! I'm glad of it. What busi- 
 ness had he to be married to the Princess.'^" 
 
 To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature 
 on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laugh- 
 ing and crying; and to see his heightened and excited face; 
 would have been a surprise to his business friends in the City, 
 indeed. 
 
 "There's the Parrot!" cried Scrooge. "Green body and 
 
A Christmas Carol 39 
 
 yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of 
 his head; there he is! Poor Robin Crusoe he called him, when 
 he came home again after sailing round the island. *Poor 
 Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe?* The 
 man thought he was dreaming, but he wasn't. It was the 
 Parrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for his life to 
 the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!" 
 
 Then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to his usual 
 character, he said, in pity for his former self, "Poor boy!" and 
 cried again. 
 
 "I wish," Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, 
 and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: "but 
 it's too late now." 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked the Spirit. 
 
 "Nothing," said Scrooge. "Nothing. There was a boy 
 singing a Christmas Carol at my door last night. I should like 
 to have given him something: that's all." 
 
 The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand : saying, 
 as it did so, "Let us see another Christmas!" 
 
 Scrooge's former self grew larger at the words, and the room 
 became a little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, 
 the windows cracked ; fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, 
 and the naked laths were shown instead; but how all this was 
 brought about Scrooge knew no more than you do. He only 
 knew that it was quite correct: that everything had happened 
 so; that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had 
 gone home for the jolly holidays. 
 
 He was not reading now, but walking up and down despair- 
 ingly. Scrooge looked at the Ghost, and, with a mournful shak- 
 ing of his head, glanced anxiously towards the door. 
 
 It opened; and a little girl, much younger than the boy, 
 came darting in, and, putting her arms about his neck, and often 
 kissing him, addressed him as her "dear, dear brother." 
 
 "I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the 
 
40 A Christmas Carol 
 
 child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. 
 "To bring you home, home, home!" 
 
 "Home, little Fan?" returned the boy. 
 
 "Yes!" said the child, brimful of glee. "Home for good 
 and all. Home for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder 
 than he used to be, that home's like Heaven! He spoke so 
 gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I 
 was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; 
 and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring 
 you. And you're to be a man!" said the child, opening her 
 eyes; "and are never to come back here; but first we're to be 
 together all the Christmas long, and have the merriest time in 
 all the world." 
 
 "You are quite a woman, little Fan!" exclaimed the boy. 
 
 She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his 
 head; but, being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe 
 to embrace him. Then she began to drag him, in her childish 
 eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loath to go, accom- 
 panied her. 
 
 A terrible voice in the hall cried, "Bring down Master 
 Scrooge's box, there!" and in the hall appeared the school- 
 master himself, who glared on Master Scrooge with a ferocious 
 condescension, and threw him into a dreadful state of mind by 
 shaking hands with him. He then conveyed him and his sister 
 into the veriest old well of a shivering best parlour that ever was 
 seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the celestial and terres- 
 trial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold. Here he 
 produced a decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of 
 curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those 
 dainties to the young people: at the same time sending out a 
 meagre servant to offer a glass of "something" to the postboy 
 who answered that he thanked the gentleman, but, if it was the 
 same tap as he had tasted before, he had rather not. Master 
 Scrooge's trunk being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise. 
 
A Christmas Carol 41 
 
 the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; 
 and, getting into it, drove gaily down the garden sweep ; the quick 
 wheels dashing the hoar frost and snow from off the dark leaves 
 of the evergreens like spray. 
 
 "Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have 
 withered," said the Ghost. "But she had a large heart!'* 
 
 "So she had," cried Scrooge. "You're right. I will not 
 gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!" 
 
 "She died a woman," said the Ghost, "and had, as I think, 
 children." 
 
 "One child," Scrooge returned. 
 
 "True," said the Ghost. "Your nephew!" 
 
 Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, 
 "Yes." 
 
 Although they had but that moment left the school 
 behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of a 
 city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed; where 
 shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and all the 
 strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain 
 enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here, too, it was 
 Christmas-time again; but it was evening, and the streets were 
 lighted up. 
 
 The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked 
 Scrooge if he knew it. 
 
 "Know it!" said Scrooge. "Was I apprenticed here?" 
 
 They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, 
 sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches 
 taller, he must have knocked his head against the ceiling, 
 Scrooge cried in great excitement: 
 
 "Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart, it's Fezziwig alive 
 again!" 
 
 Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, 
 which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; 
 adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, 
 
42 A Christmas Carol 
 
 from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out, in a 
 comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: 
 
 " Yo ho, there.' Ebenezer! Dick!" 
 
 Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly 
 in, accompanied by his fellow-'prentice. 
 
 "Dick Wilkins, to be sure!'* said Scrooge to the Ghost. 
 "Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to 
 me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!" 
 
 "Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to- 
 night. Christmas-eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have 
 the shuttei*s up," cried old Fezziwig with a sharp clap of his 
 hands, "before a man can say Jack Robinson!" 
 
 You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! 
 They charged into the street with the shutters — one, two, three 
 — had 'em up in their places — four, five, six — barred 'em 
 and pinned 'em — seven, eight, nine — and came back before 
 you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses. 
 
 "Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high 
 desk with wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's 
 have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!" 
 
 Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared 
 away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking 
 on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, 
 as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor 
 was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped 
 upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and 
 dry, and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a 
 winter's night. 
 
 In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the 
 lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty 
 stomachaches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial 
 smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. 
 In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In 
 came all the young men and women employed in the business. 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 43 
 
 In came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came 
 the cook, with her brother's particular friend the milkman. In 
 came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not 
 having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself 
 behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have 
 had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one 
 after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some 
 awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, any 
 how and every how. Away they all went, twenty couple at 
 once; hands half round and back again the other way; down 
 the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of 
 affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the 
 wrong place; new top couple starting off again as soon as they 
 got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help 
 them! When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, 
 clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!'* 
 and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially 
 provided for that purpose. But, scorning rest upon his reappear- 
 ance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers 
 yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on 
 a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him 
 out of sight, or perish. 
 
 There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more 
 dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there 
 was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there wa^ a great piece of 
 Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. 
 But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and 
 Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog, mind! The sort of 
 man who knew his business better than you or I could have told 
 it him!) struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fez- 
 ziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; 
 with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four 
 and twenty pair of partners ; people who were not to be trifled 
 with ; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking. 
 
44 A Christmas Carol 
 
 But if they had been twice as many — ah ! four times — old 
 Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. 
 Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every 
 sense of the term. If that's not high praise, tell me higher, and 
 I'll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's 
 calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. 
 You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would 
 become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezzi- 
 wig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both 
 hands to your partner, bow and curtsy, cork-screw, thread-the- 
 needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig "cut" — cut so 
 deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon 
 his feet again without a stagger. 
 
 When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side 
 the door, and, shaking hands with every person individually as 
 he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. 
 When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did 
 the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and 
 the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter 
 in the back-shop. 
 
 During the whole of this time Scrooge had acted like a man 
 out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with 
 his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered 
 everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest 
 agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his 
 former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remem- 
 bered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking 
 full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very 
 clear. 
 
 "A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these silly 
 folks so full of gratitude." 
 
 "Small!" echoed Scrooge. 
 
 The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices. 
 
A Christmas Carol 45 
 
 who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig; and, 
 when he had done so, said: 
 
 "Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your 
 mortal money: three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he 
 deserves this praise?" 
 
 "It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and 
 speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter self. "It 
 isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or un- 
 happy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a 
 toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so 
 slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count 
 'em up: what then? The happiness he gives is quite as great 
 as if it cost a fortune." 
 
 He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked the Ghost. 
 
 "Nothing particular," said Scrooge. 
 
 "Something, I think?" the Ghost insisted. 
 
 "No," said Scrooge, "no. I should like to be able to say a 
 word or two to my clerk just now. That's all." 
 
 His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance 
 to the wish; and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side 
 in the open air. 
 
 "My time grows short," observed the Spirit. "Quick!" 
 
 This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he 
 could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again 
 Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the prime 
 of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; 
 but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There 
 was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed 
 the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the 
 growing tree would fall. 
 
 He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a 
 mourning dress : in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled 
 in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past. 
 
46 A Christmas Carol 
 
 "It matters little," she said softly. "To you, very little. 
 Another idol has displaced me; and, if it can cheer and comfort 
 you in time to come as I would have tried to do, I have no just 
 cause to grieve." 
 
 "What Idol has displaced you.?" he rejoined. 
 
 "A golden one." 
 
 "This is the even-handed dealing of the world!" he said. 
 "There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there 
 is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pur- 
 suit of wealth!" 
 
 "You fear the world too much," she answered gently. "All 
 your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond 
 the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler 
 aspirations fall off one by one, until the master passion. Gain, 
 engrosses you. Have I not?" 
 
 "What then ?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much 
 wiser, what then.? I am not changed towards you." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 "Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were 
 both poor, and content to be so, until, in good season, we could 
 improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are 
 changed. When it was made you were another man." 
 
 "I was a boy," he said impatiently. 
 
 "Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are," 
 she returned. "I am. That which promised happiness when 
 we were one in heart is fraught with misery now that we are two. 
 How often and how keenly I have thought of this I will not say. 
 It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you." 
 
 "Have I ever sought release ?" 
 
 "In words. No. Never." 
 
 "In what, then?" 
 
 "In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another at- 
 mosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything 
 
A Christmas Carol 47 
 
 that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this 
 had never been between us," said the girl, looking mildly, but 
 with steadiness, upon him, "tell me, would you seek me out 
 and try to win me now ? Ah, no!" 
 
 He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition in spite 
 of himself. But he said, with a struggle, "You think not." 
 
 "I would gladly think otherwise if I could," she answered. 
 "Heaven knows! When I have learned a Truth like this, I 
 know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were 
 free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you 
 would choose a dowerless girl — you who, in your very confidence 
 with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a 
 moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to 
 do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would 
 surely follow.? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for 
 the love of him you once were." 
 
 He was about to speak; but, with her head turned from him, 
 she resumed. 
 
 "You may — the memory of what is past half makes me 
 hope you will — have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and 
 you will dismiss the recollection of it gladly, as an unprofitable 
 dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May 
 you be happy in the life you have chosen!" 
 
 She left him, and they parted. 
 
 "Spirit!" said Scrooge, "show me no more! Conduct me 
 home. Why do you delight to torture me .?" 
 
 "One shadow more!" exclaimed the Ghost. 
 
 "No more!" cried Scrooge. "No more! I don't wish to see 
 it. Show me no more!" 
 
 But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and 
 forced him to observe what happened next. 
 
 They were in another scene and place; a room, not very 
 large or handsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter 
 fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like that last that Scrooge 
 
48 AChristmasCarol 
 
 believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, 
 sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was per- 
 fectly tumultuous, for there were more children there than 
 Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike 
 the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children 
 conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting 
 itself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond 
 belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother 
 and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and 
 the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged 
 by the young brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have 
 given to be one of them! Though I never could have been so 
 rude, no, no! I wouldn't for the wealth of all the world have 
 crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and, for the precious 
 little shoe, I wouldn't have plucked it off, God bless my soul! 
 to save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, 
 bold young brood, I couldn't have done it; I should have ex- 
 pected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and 
 never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, 
 I own, to have touched her lips ; to have questioned her, that she 
 might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her 
 downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves 
 of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: 
 in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the 
 lightest licence of a child, and yet to have been man enough to 
 know its value. 
 
 But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush 
 immediately ensued that she, with laughing face and plundered 
 dress, was borne towards it in the centre of a flushed and boister- 
 ous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home 
 attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. 
 Th^en the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that 
 was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him, with 
 chairs for ladders, to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown- 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 49 
 
 paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round the 
 neck, pummel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affec- 
 tion! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the develop- 
 ment of every package was received! Tlic terrible announce- 
 ment tliat the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll's 
 frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of 
 having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! 
 The immense relief of finding this a false alarm! The joy, and 
 gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is 
 enough that by degrees, the children and their emotions got out 
 of the parlour, and, by one stair at a time, up to the top of the 
 house, where they went to bed, and so subsided. 
 
 And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, 
 when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning 
 fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own 
 fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite 
 as graceful and as full of promise, might have called him father, 
 and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his 
 sight grew very dim indeed. 
 
 "Belle," said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, 
 "I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon." 
 
 "Who was it?" 
 
 "Guess!" 
 
 "How can I? Tut, don't I know?" she added in the same 
 breath, laughing as he laughed. "Mr. Scrooge." 
 
 "Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it 
 was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help 
 seeing him. His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; 
 and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe." 
 
 "Spirit!" said Scrooge in a broken voice, "remove me from 
 this place." 
 
 "I told you these were shadows of the things that have been," 
 said the Ghost. "That they are what they are, do not blame 
 me!" 
 
50 A Christmas Carol 
 
 "Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed. "I cannot bear it!" 
 He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon 
 him with a face in which in some strange way there were frag- 
 ments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it. 
 "Leave me! Take me back! Haunt me no longer!" 
 In the struggle — if that can be called a struggle in which 
 the Ghost, with no visible resistance on its own part, was un- 
 disturbed by any effort of its adversary — Scrooge observed 
 that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting 
 that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher cap, 
 and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head. 
 
 The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher 
 covered its whole form; but, though Scrooge pressed it down 
 with all his force, he could not hide the light, which streamed 
 from under it in an unbroken flood upon the ground. 
 
 He was conscious of being exliausted, and overcome by an 
 irresistible drowsiness ; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. 
 He gave the cap a parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; 
 and had barely time to reel to bed before he sank into a heavy 
 sleep. 
 
STAVE THREE 
 
 THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS 
 
 AWAKING in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and 
 sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had 
 no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of 
 One. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the right 
 nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference 
 with the second messenger dispatched to him through Jacob 
 Marley's intervention. But, finding that he turned uncom- 
 fortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains 
 this new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside 
 with his own hands, and, lying down again, established a sharp 
 look-out all round the bed. For he wished to challenge the 
 Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be 
 taken by surprise and made nervous. 
 
 Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves 
 on being acquainted with a move or two, and being usually 
 equal to the time of day, express the wide range of their capacity 
 for adventure by observing that they are good for anything 
 from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite 
 extremes, no doubt, there lies a tolerably wide and compre- 
 hensive range of subjects. Without venturing for Scrooge 
 quite as hardily as this, I don't mind calling on you to believe 
 that he was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, 
 and that nothing between a baby and a rhinoceros would have 
 astonished him very much. 
 
 Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by 
 any means prepared for nothing; and consequently, when the 
 
52 A Christmas Carol 
 
 bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a 
 violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter 
 of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time he lay 
 upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, 
 which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; 
 and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen 
 ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would 
 be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that 
 very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, 
 without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, 
 he began to think — as you or I would have thought at first; 
 for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows 
 what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably 
 have done it too — at last, I say, he began to think that the 
 source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining 
 room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. 
 This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly, 
 and shuffled in his slippers to the door. 
 
 The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange 
 voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed. 
 
 It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. 
 But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls 
 and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a 
 perfect grove; from every part of which bright gleaming berries 
 glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected 
 back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered 
 there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney 
 as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's 
 tinae, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. 
 Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, 
 geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, 
 long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels 
 of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy 
 oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething 
 
A Christmas Carol 53 
 
 bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their dehcious 
 steam. In easy state upon this couch there sat a jolly Giant, 
 glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike 
 Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge 
 as he came peeping round the door. 
 
 "Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in! and know 
 me better, man!" 
 
 Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this 
 Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and, 
 though the Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to 
 meet them. 
 
 *'I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit. 
 "Look upon me!" 
 
 Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple 
 deep green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This 
 garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast 
 was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any 
 artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the 
 garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other cover- 
 ing than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. 
 Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, 
 its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its uncon- 
 strained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle 
 was an antique scabbard ; but no sword was in it, and the ancient 
 sheath was eaten up with rust. 
 
 "You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed 
 the Spirit. 
 
 "Never," Scrooge made answer to it. 
 
 "Have never walked forth with the younger members of 
 my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers 
 born in these later years.?" pursued the Phantom. 
 
 "I don't think I have," said Scrooge. "I am afraid I have 
 not. Have you had many brothers. Spirit.?" 
 
 "More than eighteen hundred," said the Ghost. 
 
54 
 
 A Christmas Carol 
 
 *'A tremendous family to provide for," muttered Scrooge. 
 
 The Ghost of Christmas Present rose. 
 
 "Spirit," said Scrooge submissively, *' conduct me where 
 you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a 
 lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to 
 teach me, let me profit by it." 
 
 "Touch my robe!" 
 
 Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast. 
 
 Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, 
 poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, 
 fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the 
 fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the 
 city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was 
 severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant 
 kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front 
 of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses, whence it 
 was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into 
 the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms. 
 
 The house-fronts looked black enough, and the windows 
 blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon 
 the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground ; which last 
 deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy 
 wheels of carts and waggons ; furrows that crossed and recrossed 
 each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched 
 off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace, in the thick 
 yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the 
 shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, 
 half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of 
 sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one 
 consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts ' 
 content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the 
 town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the 
 clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have en- 
 deavoured to diffuse in vain. 
 
A Christmas Carol ^^ 
 
 For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops 
 were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the 
 parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball 
 — better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest — laughing 
 heartily if it went right, and not less heartily if it went wrong. 
 The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers* 
 were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot- 
 bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly 
 old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the 
 street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown- 
 faced, broad-girthed Spanish onions, shining in the fatness of 
 their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves 
 in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced 
 demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and 
 apples clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches 
 of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle 
 from conspicuous hooks that people's mouths might water 
 gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and 
 brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the 
 woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered 
 leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab and swarthy, setting 
 off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great com- 
 pactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseech- 
 ing to be carried home in paper bags, and eaten after dinner. 
 The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice 
 fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded 
 race, appeared to know that there was something going on; 
 and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world 
 in slow and passionless excitement. 
 
 The Grocers'! oh, the Grocers'! nearly closed, with per- 
 haps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such 
 glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the 
 counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted 
 company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and 
 
56 A Christmas Carol 
 
 down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea 
 and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins 
 were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the 
 sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so 
 delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten 
 sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint, and subse- 
 quently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, 
 or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their 
 highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and 
 in its Christmas dress ; but the customers were all so hurried and 
 so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled 
 up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets 
 wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came 
 running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the 
 like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer 
 and his people were so frank and fresh, that the polished hearts 
 with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been 
 their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas 
 daws to peck at if they chose. 
 
 But soon the steeples called good people all to church and 
 chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in 
 their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the 
 same time there emerged, from scores of by-streets, lanes, and 
 nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners 
 to the bakers' shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared 
 to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge be- 
 side him in a baker's doorway, and, taking off the covers as 
 their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from 
 his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for 
 once or twice, when there were angry words between some 
 dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops 
 of water on them from it, and their good-humour was restored 
 directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christ- 
 mas-day. And so it was! God love it, so it was! 
 
A Christmas Carol ^y 
 
 In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and 
 yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners, and 
 the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above 
 each baker's oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones 
 were cooking too. 
 
 "Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your 
 torch ?" asked Scrooge. 
 
 "There is. My own." 
 
 "Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?" asked 
 Scrooge. 
 
 "To any kindly given. To a poor one most." 
 
 "Why to a poor one most.^" asked Scrooge. 
 
 "Because it needs it most." 
 
 "Spirit!" said Scrooge after a moment's thought. "I 
 wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us, 
 should desire to cramp these people's opportunities of innocent 
 enjoyment." 
 
 "I!" cried the Spirit. 
 
 "You would deprive them of their means of dining every 
 seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to 
 dine at all," said Scrooge; "wouldn't you.^" 
 
 "I!" cried the Spirit. 
 
 "You seek to close these places on the Seventh Day," said 
 Scrooge. "And it comes to the same thing." 
 
 "/ seek!" exclaimed the Spirit. 
 
 " Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, 
 or at least in that of your family," said Scrooge. 
 
 "There are some upon this earth of yours," returned the 
 Spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of 
 passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in 
 our name, who are as strange to us, and all our kith and kin, as 
 if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their 
 doings on themselves, not us." 
 
 Scrooge promised that he would ; and they went on, invisible, 
 
58 A Christmas Carol 
 
 as they had been before, into the suburbs of the town. It was a 
 remarkable quaHty of the Ghost (wliich Scrooge had observed 
 at the baker's), that, notwithstanding his gigantic size, he could 
 acconimodate himself to anyplace with ease; and that he stood 
 beneath a low roof quite as gracefully and like a supernatural 
 creature as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall. 
 
 And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Sj)irit had in show- 
 ing oil" this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, 
 hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led 
 him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there he went, and took 
 Scrooge with him, hohling to his robe; and, on the threshold of 
 the door, the S})irit smiled, and sto[)ped to bless Bob Cratchit's 
 dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think of that! 
 Bob had but fifteen **Bob" a week himself; he pocketed on 
 Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the 
 Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four- roomed house! 
 
 Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out 
 but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which 
 are cheap, and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid 
 the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, 
 also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit |)lunged a 
 fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and, getting the corners of 
 his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's private property, conferred 
 upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, re- 
 joiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show 
 his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller 
 Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside 
 the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their 
 own; and, basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, 
 these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted 
 Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although 
 his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow 
 potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to 
 be let out and peeled. 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 59 
 
 "What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. 
 Cratchit. " And your brother, Tiny Tim ? And Martha warn't 
 as late last Christmas-day by half an hour!" 
 
 "Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. 
 "Hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha!" 
 
 "Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!'* 
 said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her 
 shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal. 
 
 "We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the 
 girl, "and had to clear away this morning, mother!" 
 
 "Well! never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. 
 Cratchit. "Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a 
 warm. Lord bless ye!" 
 
 "No, no! There's father coming," cried the two young 
 Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, 
 hide!" 
 
 So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, 
 with at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, 
 hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up 
 and brushed to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. 
 Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs 
 supported by an iron frame! 
 
 "Why, Where's our Martha.?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking 
 round. 
 
 "Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit. 
 
 "Not coming!" said Bob with a sudden declension in his 
 high spirits ; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from 
 church, and had come home rampant. "Not coming upon 
 Christmas-day!" 
 
 Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only 
 in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet 
 door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits 
 
6o A Christmas Carol 
 
 hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that 
 he might hear the pudding singing in the copper. 
 
 "And how did httle Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit 
 when she had raUied Bob on his creduhty, and Bob had hugged 
 his daughter to his heart's content. 
 
 "As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow, he 
 gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the 
 strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, 
 that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he 
 was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember 
 upon Christmas-day who made lame beggars walk and blind 
 men see." 
 
 Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and 
 trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong 
 and hearty. 
 
 His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back 
 came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by 
 his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob, 
 turning up his cuffs — as if, poor fellow, they were capable of 
 being made more shabby — compounded some hot mixture in 
 a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round, and 
 put it on the hob to simmer. Master Peter and the two ubiquitous 
 young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon 
 returned in high procession. 
 
 Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose 
 the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a 
 black swan was a matter of course — and, in truth, it was some- 
 thing very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy 
 (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master 
 Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda 
 sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; 
 Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; 
 the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting 
 themselves, and, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed 
 
A Christmas Carol 6i 
 
 spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose be- 
 fore their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set 
 on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless 
 pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving- 
 knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, 
 and when the long-expected gush of stuflSng issued forth, one 
 murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny 
 Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table 
 with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah ! 
 
 There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe 
 there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, 
 size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. 
 Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient 
 dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with 
 great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the 
 dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had 
 enough, and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, were steeped 
 in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being 
 changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone — 
 too nervous to bear witnesses — to take the pudding up, and 
 bring it in. 
 
 Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should 
 break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over 
 the wall of the back-yard and stolen it, while they were merry 
 with the goose — a supposition at which the two young Cratchits 
 became livid ! All sorts of horrors were supposed. 
 
 Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of 
 the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. 
 A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to 
 each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the 
 pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered — flushed, but 
 smiling proudly — with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, 
 so hard and firm, blazing in half of half- a- quartern of ignited 
 brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. 
 
62 A Christmas Carol 
 
 Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly 
 too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. 
 Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that, now the 
 weight was off her mind, she would confess she had her doubts 
 about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say 
 about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small 
 pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to 
 do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a 
 thing. 
 
 At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the 
 hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug 
 being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were 
 put upon the table, and a shovel full of chestnuts on the fire. 
 Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth in what 
 Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob 
 Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers 
 and a custard cup without a handle. 
 
 These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as 
 golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with 
 beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and 
 cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed: 
 
 "A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!" 
 
 Which all the family re-echoed. 
 
 "God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all. 
 
 He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. 
 Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, 
 and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might 
 be taken from him. 
 
 "Spirit," said Scrooge with an interest he had never felt 
 before, "tell me if Tiny Tim will live." 
 
 "I see a vacant seat," replied the Ghost, "in the poor 
 chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully pre- 
 served. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the 
 child will die." 
 
A Christmas Carol 63 
 
 "No, no," said Scrooge. "Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will 
 be spared." 
 
 "If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none 
 other of my race," returned the Ghost, "will find him here. 
 What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and de- 
 crease the surplus population." 
 
 Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the 
 Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief. 
 
 "Man," said the Ghost, "if man you be in heart, not ada- 
 mant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered What 
 the surplus is, and Where it is. Will you decide what men 
 shall live, what men shall die ? It may be that, in the sight of 
 Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions 
 like this poor man's child. Oh God! to hear the Insect on the 
 leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers 
 in the dust!" 
 
 Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and, trembling, 
 cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily 
 on hearing his own name. 
 
 "Mr. Scrooge!" said Bob. "I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the 
 Founder of the Feast!" 
 
 "The Founder of the Feast, indeed!" cried Mrs. Cratchit, red- 
 dening. " I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my 
 mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it.'* 
 
 "My dear," said Bob, "the children! Christmas-day." 
 
 "It should be Christmas-day, I am sure," said she, "on 
 which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, 
 unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! No- 
 body knows it better than you do, poor fellow!" 
 
 "My dear!" was Bob's mild answer. "Christmas-day." 
 
 "I'll drink his health for your sake and the Day's," said 
 Mrs. Cratchit, " not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christ- 
 mas and a happy New Year! He'll be very merry and very 
 happy, I have no doubt!" 
 
64 A Christmas Carol 
 
 The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of 
 their proceedings which had no heartiness in it. Tiny Tim 
 drank it last of all, but he didn't care twopence for it. Scrooge 
 was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a 
 dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five 
 minutes. 
 
 After it had passed away they were ten times merrier than 
 before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done 
 with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his 
 eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full 
 five-and-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed 
 tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a man of business; 
 and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between 
 his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular invest- 
 ments he should favour when he came into the receipt of that 
 bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a 
 milliner's, then told them what kind of work she had to do, 
 and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she 
 meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good long rest; to- 
 morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she had 
 seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord 
 *'was much about as tall as Peter"; at which Peter pulled up his 
 collars so high, that you couldn't have seen his head if you had 
 been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round 
 and round; and by-and-by they had a song, about a lost child 
 travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little 
 voice, and sang it very well indeed. 
 
 There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a 
 handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were 
 far from being waterproof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter 
 might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawn- 
 broker's. But they were happy, grateful, pleased with one 
 another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, 
 and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's 
 
A Christmas Carol 65 
 
 torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially 
 on Tiny Tim, until the last. 
 
 By this time it was getting dark, and snowing pretty heavily; 
 and, as Scrooge and the Spirit went along the streets, the bright- 
 ness of the roaring fires in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of 
 rooms was wonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed 
 preparations for a cosy dinner, with hot plates baking through 
 and through before the fire, and deep red curtains, ready to be 
 drawn to shut out cold and darkness. There, all the children 
 of the house were running out into the snow to meet their married 
 sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the first to greet 
 them. Here, again, were shadows on the window blinds of 
 guests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls, all 
 hooded and fur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped 
 lightly off to some near neighbour's house; where, woe upon the 
 single man who saw them enter — artful witches, well they 
 knew it — in a glow ! 
 
 But, if you had judged from the numbers of people on their 
 way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one 
 was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead 
 of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half- 
 chimney high. Blessings on it, how the Ghost exulted! How 
 it bared its breadth of breast, and opened its capacious palm, 
 and floated on, outpouring, with a generous hand, its bright and 
 harmless mirth on everything within its reach ! The very lamp- 
 lighter, who ran on before, dotting the dusky street with specks 
 of light, and who was dressed to spend the evening somewhere, 
 laughed out loudly as the Spirit passed, though little kenned 
 the lamp-lighter that he had any company but Christmas. 
 
 And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they 
 stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses 
 of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place 
 of giants; and water spread itself wheresoever it listed; or would 
 have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing 
 
66 A Christmas Carol 
 
 grew but moss and furze, and coarse, rank grass. Down in the 
 west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery red, which glared 
 upon the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and, frown- 
 ing lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest 
 night. 
 
 "What place is this.?" asked Scrooge. 
 
 " A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the 
 earth," returned the Spirit. "But they know me. See!" 
 
 A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they 
 advanced towards it. Passing through the wall of mud and 
 stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a glow- 
 ing fire. An old, old man and woman, with their children and 
 their children's children, and another generation beyond that, 
 all decked out gaily in their holiday attire. The old man, in a 
 voice that seldom rose above the howling of the wind upon the 
 barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song; it had been 
 a very old song when he was a boy; and from time to time they 
 all joined in the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices, 
 the old man got quite blithe and loud; and, so surely as they 
 stopped, his vigour sank again. 
 
 The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge hold his 
 robe, and, passing on above the moor, sped whither.? Not to 
 sea.? To sea. To Scrooge's horror, looking back, he saw the 
 last of the land, a frightful range of rocks, behind them ; and his 
 ears were deafened by the thundering of water, as it rolled and 
 roared, and raged among the dreadful caverns it had worn, and 
 fiercely tried to undermine the earth. 
 
 Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league or so 
 from shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed, the wild 
 year through, there stood a solitary lighthouse. Great heaps 
 of seaweed clung to its base, and storm-birds — born of the 
 wind, one might suppose, as seaweed of the water — rose and 
 fell about it, like the waves they skimmed. 
 
 But, even here, two men who watched the light had made a 
 
A Christmas Carol 67 
 
 fire, that through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed out a 
 ray of brightness on the awful sea. Joining their horny hands 
 over the rough table at which they sat, they wished each other 
 Merry Christmas in their can of grog; and one of them, the 
 elder too, with his face all damaged and scarred with hard 
 weather, as the figure-head of an old ship might be, struck up 
 a sturdy song that was like a gale in itself. 
 
 Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea 
 — on, on — until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any 
 shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman 
 at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the 
 watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every 
 man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christ- 
 mas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of 
 some bygone Christmas-day, with homeward hopes belonging 
 to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or 
 bad, had had a kinder word for one another on that day than 
 on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its 
 festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a dis- 
 tance, and had known that they delighted to remember him. 
 
 It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening to the 
 moaning of the wind, and thinking what a solemn thing it was 
 to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss, 
 whose depths were secrets as profound as death: it was a great 
 surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. 
 It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to recognise it as his 
 own nephew's, and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming 
 room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking 
 at that same nephew with approving affability! 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a 
 man more blessed in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I can 
 say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me, 
 and I'll cultivate his acquaintance. 
 
68 A Christmas Carol 
 
 It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that, 
 while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing 
 in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good- 
 humour. When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way, hold- 
 ing his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the 
 most extravagant contortions, Scrooge's niece, by marriage, 
 laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends, being 
 not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily. 
 
 "Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 "He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!" cried 
 Scrooge's nephew. "He believed it, too!" 
 
 "More shame for him, Fred!" said Scrooge's niece indig- 
 nantly. Bless those women! they never do anything by halves. 
 They are always in earnest. 
 
 She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled, 
 surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed 
 made to be kissed — as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little 
 dots about her chin, that melted into one another when she 
 laughed; and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little 
 creature's head. Altogether she was what you would have 
 called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too. Oh, per- 
 fectly satisfactory! 
 
 " He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nephew, " that's 
 the truth; and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his 
 offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say 
 against him." 
 
 "I'm sure he is very rich, Fred," hinted Scrooge's niece. 
 "At least, you always tell me so." 
 
 "What of that, my dear.?" said Scrooge's nephew. "His 
 wealth is of no use to him. He don't do any good with it. He 
 don't make himself comfortable with it. He hasn't the satisfac- 
 tion of thinking — ha, ha, ha! — that he is ever going to benefit 
 Us with it." 
 
 "I have no patience with him," observed Scrooge's niece. 
 
A Christmas Carol 69 
 
 Scrooge's niece's sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the 
 same opinion. 
 
 "Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. *'I am sorry for 
 him; I couldn't be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by 
 his ill whims ? Himself always. Here he takes it into his head 
 to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us. What's the 
 consequence? He don't lose much of a dinner." 
 
 "Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted 
 Scrooge's niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must 
 be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had 
 just had dinner; and, with the dessert upon the table, were 
 clustered round the fire, by lamp-light. 
 
 "Well! I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's nephew, 
 "because I haven't any great faith in these young housekeepers. 
 What do you say. Topper.?" 
 
 Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge's niece's 
 sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, 
 who had no right to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat 
 Scrooge's niece's sister — the plump one with the lace tucker, 
 not the one with the roses — blushed. 
 
 "Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands. 
 "He never finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridicu- 
 lous fellow!" 
 
 Scrooge's nephew revelled in another laugh, and, as it was 
 impossible to keep the infection off, though the plump sister 
 tried hard to do it with aromatic vinegar, his example was 
 unanimously followed. 
 
 "I was only going to say," said Scrooge's nephew, "that the 
 consequence of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry 
 with us, is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant moments, 
 which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter 
 companions than he can find in his own thoughts, either in his 
 mouldy old office or his dusty chambers. I mean to give him 
 the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for I pity 
 
JO A Christmas Carol 
 
 him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help 
 thinking better of it — I defy him — if he finds me going there 
 in good temper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle Scrooge, 
 how are you ? ' If it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor 
 clerk fifty pounds, iliafs something; and I think I shook him 
 yesterday." 
 
 It was their turn to laugh, now, at the notion of his shaking 
 Scrooge. But, being thoroughly good-natured, and not much 
 caring what they laughed at, so that they laughed at any rate, 
 he encouraged them in their merriment, and passed the bottle, 
 joyously. 
 
 After tea they had some music. For they were a musical 
 family, and knew what they were about when they sung a Glee 
 or Catch, I can assure you: especially Topper, who could growl 
 away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large 
 veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it. Scrooge's 
 niece played well upon the harp; and played, among other 
 tunes, a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn to 
 whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child 
 who fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been 
 reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain 
 of music sounded, all the things that Ghost had shown him 
 came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought 
 that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might 
 have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness 
 with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade that 
 buried Jacob Marley. 
 
 But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After 
 awhile they played at forfeits ; for it is good to be children some- 
 times, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty 
 Founder was a child himself. Stop! There was first a game 
 at blind-man's buff. Of course there was. And I no more 
 believe Topper was really blind than I believe he had eyes in his 
 boots. INIy opinion is, that it was a done thing between him 
 
A Christmas Carol 71 
 
 and Scrooge's nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas Present 
 knew it. The way he went after that plump sister in the lace 
 tucker was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knock- 
 ing down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping up 
 against the piano, smothering himself amongst the curtains, 
 wherever she went, there went he! He always knew where the 
 plump sister was. He wouldn't catch anybody else. If you 
 had fallen up against him (as some of them did) on purpose, he 
 would have made a feint of endeavouring to seize you, which 
 would have been an affront to your understanding, and would 
 instantly have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. 
 She often cried out that it wasn't fair; and it really was not. 
 But when, at last, he caught her; when, in spite of all her silken 
 rustlings, and her rapid flutterings past him, he got her into a 
 corner whence there was no escape, then his conduct was the 
 most execrable. For his pretending not to know her; his pre- 
 tending that it was necessary to touch her head-dress, and 
 further to assure himself of her identity by pressing a certain 
 ring upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck, was 
 vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him her opinion of it when, 
 another blind man being in office, they were so very confidential 
 together behind the curtains. 
 
 Scrooge's niece was not one of the blindman's-buff party, 
 but was made comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in 
 a snug corner where the Ghost and Scrooge were close behind 
 her. But she joined in the forfeits, and loved her love to ad- 
 miration with all the letters of the alphabet. Likewise at the 
 game of How, When, and Where, she was very great, and, to 
 the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her sisters hollow: 
 though they were sharp girls too, as Topper could have told you. 
 There might have been twenty people there, young and old, 
 but they all played, and so did Scrooge; for, wholly forgetting, 
 in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made 
 no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess 
 
72 A Christmas Carol 
 
 quite loiui, and very often guessed right, too, for the sharpest 
 needle, best Whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was 
 not sharper than Scrooge; bhmt as he took it in his head to be. 
 
 The Ghost was greatly pleased to tind him in this mood, and 
 looked upon him with such favour, that he begged like a boy to 
 be allowed to stay until the guests departed. But this the Spirit 
 said could not be done. 
 
 "Here is a new game," said Scrooge. "One half-hour. 
 Spirit, only one!" 
 
 It was a game called Yes and No, where Scrooge's nephew 
 had to think of something, and the rest must tind out what; he 
 only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. 
 The brisk tire of questioning to which he was exposed elicited 
 from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, 
 rather a disagi*eeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that 
 growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and 
 lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn't 
 made a show of, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in 
 a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a 
 horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a 
 pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to 
 him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so 
 inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up otf the sofa, 
 and stamp. At last the plump sister, falling into a similar 
 state, cried out: 
 
 "I have found it out! 1 know what it is, Fred I I know 
 what it is!" 
 
 *'^Vhat is it.^" cried Fred. 
 
 "It's your uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge ! " 
 
 Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sen- 
 timent, though some objected that the reply to "Is it a bear.-" 
 ought to have been "Yes": inasmuch as an answer in the nega- 
 tive was suihcient to have diverted their thoughts from Mr. 
 Scrooge, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way. 
 
A Christmas Carol 73 
 
 " lie has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure," said Fred, 
 " and it would be ungrateful not to drink his health. Here is a 
 glass of mulled wine ready to our hand at the moment; and I 
 say, 'T'Uele Scrooge!'" 
 
 "Well! Uncle Scrooge!" they cried. 
 
 "A merry Christmas and a happy New Year to the old 
 man, whatever he is!" said Scrooge's nephew. "He wouldn't 
 take it from me, but may he have it nevertheless. Uncle 
 Scrooge!" 
 
 Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light 
 of heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company 
 in return, and thanked them in an inaudible speech, if the 
 Ghost had given him time. But the whole scene passed off in 
 the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew; and he and 
 the Spirit were again upon their travels. 
 
 Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they 
 visited, but always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside 
 sick-beds, and they were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they 
 were close at home; by struggling men, and they were patient in 
 their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, 
 hospital, and gaol, in misery's every refuge, where vain man in 
 his little brief authority had not made fast the door, and barred 
 the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught Scrooge his pre- 
 cepts. 
 
 It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Scrooge had 
 his doubts of this, because the Christmas holidays a})peared to 
 be condensed into the space of time they passed together. It 
 was strange, too, that, while Scrooge remained unaltered in his 
 outward form, the Ghost grew older, clearly older. Scrooge 
 had observed this change, but never spoke of it, until they left 
 a children's Twelfth-Night party, when, looking at the Spirit 
 as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that its hair 
 was grey. 
 
 "Are spirits' lives so short.?" asked Scrooge. 
 
74 A Christmas Carol 
 
 *'My life upon tins globe is very brief," replied the Ghost. 
 **It ends to-night." 
 
 "To-night I" cried Scrooge. 
 
 "To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near." 
 
 The chimes were ringing the three-quarters past eleven at 
 that moment. 
 
 "Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask," said Scrooge, 
 lookins: intently at the Spirit's robe, "but 1 stv something strange, 
 and not belonging to yourseh', protruding from your skirts. Is 
 it a foot or a claw.-" 
 
 "It might l>e a claw, for the flesh there is upon it," was the 
 Spirit's sorrowful reply. "Look here." 
 
 Fn.un the foldings of its robe it brought two children: wretched 
 abject, frightful, hideiuis, miserable. They knelt down at its 
 feet, and clung ujx>n the outside of its garment. 
 
 "Oh, Man I look here! Look, look, down here!" exclaimed 
 the Ghost. 
 
 They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowl- 
 ing, woltish : but prostrate, too, in their humility. AVhere grace- 
 ful youth should luive fiUeii their features out, and touched them 
 with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of 
 ai]^', had pinched, and twisteil them, and pulled them into shreds. 
 AVhere angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurkeil. and glared 
 out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of 
 humanity, in any grade. tliR^ugh all the mysteries of wonderful 
 creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread. 
 
 SiTooge starteil back. appalUxi. Having them shown to 
 him in this way, he trieil to say they were tine children, but the 
 words chokeii themselves, rather than be parties to a he of such 
 enormous magnitude. 
 
 "Spirit I are they yours.-" Scrooge could say no more. 
 
 "They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. 
 **And tliey cling to me, ap^"»ealing from their fathers. This boy 
 is lijnorance. This cjirl b ^Yant. Beware of them K^th. and 
 
A Christmas Carol y^ 
 
 all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his 
 brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be 
 erased. Deny it!" cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand 
 towards the city. "Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for 
 your factious purposes, and make it worse! And bide the end!" 
 
 "Have they no refuge or resource.^" cried Scrooge. 
 
 "Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for 
 the last time with his own words. "Are there no workhouses?" 
 
 The bell struck Twelve. 
 
 Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. 
 As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the pre- 
 diction of old Jacob Marley, and, lifting up his eyes, beheld a 
 solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist along 
 tlie ground towards him. 
 
STAVE FOUR 
 
 THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS 
 
 THE Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When 
 it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; 
 for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed 
 to scatter gloom and mystery. 
 
 It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed 
 its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible, save one 
 outstretched hand. But for this, it would have been difficult to 
 detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the dark- 
 ness by which it was surrounded. 
 
 He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, 
 and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. 
 He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved. 
 
 "I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to 
 Come.^" said Scrooge. 
 
 The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand. 
 
 "You are about to show me shadows of the things that have 
 not happened, but will happen in the time before us," Scrooge 
 pursued. "Is that so. Spirit.?" 
 
 The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an 
 instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That 
 was the only answer he received. 
 
 Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge 
 feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath 
 him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared 
 to follow it. The Spirit paused a moment, as observing his 
 condition, and giving him time to recover. 
 
A Christmas Carol 'jj 
 
 But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with 
 a vague uncertain horror to know that, behind the dusky shroud, 
 there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though 
 he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a 
 spectral hand and one great heap of black. 
 
 " Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you more than 
 any spectre I have seen. But, as I know your purpose is to do 
 me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I 
 was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a 
 thankful heart. Will you not speak to me.^" 
 
 It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight be- 
 fore them. 
 
 "Lead on!" said Scrooge. "Lead on! The night is wan- 
 ing fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on. Spirit!" 
 
 The phantom moved away as it had come towards him. 
 Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, 
 he thought, and carried him along. 
 
 They scarcely seemed to enter the City; for the City rather 
 seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its 
 own act. But there they were in the heart of it; on 'Change, 
 amongst the merchants ; who hurried up and down, and chinked 
 the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked 
 at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold 
 seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often. 
 
 The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. 
 Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced 
 to listen to their talk. 
 
 "No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, "I don't 
 know much about it either way. I only know he's dead." 
 
 "When did he die?" inquired another. 
 
 "Last night, I believe." 
 
 "Why, what was the matter with him ?" asked a third, taking 
 a vast quantity of snuflt out of a very large snuff-box. " I thought 
 he'd never die." 
 
yS A Christmas Carol 
 
 "God knows,*' said the first with a yawn. 
 
 "What has he done with his money?'* asked a red-faced 
 gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, 
 that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock. 
 
 "I haven't heard," said the man with the large chin, yawn- 
 ing again. "Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn't left 
 it to me. That's all I know." 
 
 This pleasantry was received with a general laugh. 
 
 " It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said the same speaker; 
 "for, upon my life, I don't know of anybody to go to it. Sup- 
 pose we make up a party, and volunteer.^" 
 
 "I don't mind going if a lunch is provided," observed the 
 gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. "But I must be 
 fed if I make one." 
 
 Another laugh. 
 
 "Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all," 
 said the first speaker, "for I never wear black gloves, and I 
 never eat lunch. But I'll offer to go if anybody else will. When 
 I come to think of it, I'm not at all sure tliat I wasn't his most 
 particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we 
 met. Bye, bye!" 
 
 Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other 
 groups. Scrooge knew tlie men, and looked towards tlie Spirit 
 for an explanation. 
 
 The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to 
 two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, tliinking tliat the 
 explanation might lie here. 
 
 He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of 
 business: very wealthy, and of great importance. He had 
 made a point always of standing well in their esteem: in a 
 business point of view, that is; sti'ictly in a business point of 
 view. 
 
 "How are you?" said one. 
 
 "How are you?" returned the other. 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 79 
 
 "Well!" said the first. "Old Scratch has got his own at 
 last, hey?" 
 
 "So I am told," returned the second. "Cold, isn't it?" 
 
 "Seasonable for Christmas-time. You are not a skater, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 "No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning!" 
 
 Not another word. That was their nieeting, their con- 
 versation, and their parting. 
 
 Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit 
 should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; 
 but, feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, 
 he set himself to consider what it was likely to be. They could 
 scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, 
 his old partner, for that was Past, and this Ghost's province 
 was the Future. Nor could he think of any one immediately 
 connected with himself, to whom he could apply them. But 
 nothing doubting that, to whomsoever they applied, they had 
 some latent moral for his own improvement, he resolved to 
 treasure up every word he heard, and everything he saw; and 
 especially to observe the shadow of himself when it appeared. 
 For he had an expectation that the conduct of his future self 
 would give him the clue he missed, and would render the solu- 
 tion of these riddles easy. 
 
 He looked about in that very place for his own image; 
 but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and, thoujrh 
 the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he 
 saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured 
 in through the Porch. It gave him little surprise, however; 
 for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, and 
 thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out 
 in this. 
 
 Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its 
 outstretched hand. When he roused himself from his thought- 
 ful quest, he fancied, from the turn of the hand, and its situa- 
 
8o A Christmas Carol 
 
 tion in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking 
 at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very cold. 
 
 They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of 
 the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although 
 he recognised its situation and its bad repute. The ways were 
 foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people half 
 naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys and archways, like so 
 many cesspools, disgorged their offences of smell, and dirt, and 
 life upon the straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked 
 with crime, with filth and misery. 
 
 Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, 
 beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, 
 bottles, bones, and greasy offal were bought. Upon the floor 
 within were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, 
 files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds. Secrets that 
 few would like to scrutinise were bred and hidden in mountains 
 of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and sepulchres of 
 bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a charcoal 
 stove made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly seventy 
 years of age, who had screened himself from the cold air with- 
 out by a frouzy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters hung 
 upon a line, and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm 
 retirement. 
 
 Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this 
 man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. 
 But she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly 
 laden, came in too, and she was closely followed by a man in 
 faded black, who was no less startled by the sight of them than 
 they had been upon the recognition of each other. After a short 
 period of blank astonishment, in which the old man with the 
 pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh. 
 
 "Let the charwoman alone to be the first!" cried she who 
 had entered first. "Let the laundress alone to be the second; 
 and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here. 
 
A Christmas Carol 8i 
 
 old Joe, here's a chance ! If we haven't all three met here with- 
 out meaning it!" 
 
 "You couldn't have met in a better place," said old Joe, re- 
 moving his pipe from his mouth. "Come into the parlour. 
 You were made free of it long ago, you know; and the other two 
 an't strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! 
 How it skreeks! There an't such a rusty bit of metal in the 
 place as its own hinges, I believe; and I'm sure there's no such 
 old bones here as mine. Ha! ha! We're all suitable to our 
 calling, we're well matched. Come into the parlour. Come 
 into the parlour." 
 
 The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The 
 old man raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, and, 
 having trimmed his smoky lamp (for it was night) with the 
 stem of his pipe, put it into his mouth again. 
 
 While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw 
 her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on 
 a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, and looking with a 
 bold defiance at the other two. 
 
 "What odds, then.? What odds, Mrs. Dilber.?" said the 
 woman. " Every person has a right to take care of themselves. 
 He always did!" 
 
 "That's true, indeed!" said the laundress. "No man 
 more so." 
 
 "Why, then, don't stand staring as if you was afraid, woman! 
 Who's the wiser ? We're not going to pick holes in each other's 
 coats, I suppose.?" 
 
 "No, indeed!" said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. 
 "We should hope not." 
 
 "Very well, then!" cried the woman. "That's enough. 
 Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these ? Not a 
 dead man, I suppose.?" 
 
 "No, indeed," said Mrs. Dilber, laughing. 
 
 "If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old 
 
82 A Christmas Carol 
 
 screw," pursued the woman, "why wasn't he natural in his 
 Hfetime? If he had been, he'd have had somebody to look 
 after him when he was struck with Death, instead of lying gasp- 
 ing out his last there, alone by himself." 
 
 "It's the truest word that ever was spoke," said Mrs. Dilber, 
 "It's a judgment on him." 
 
 "I wish it was a little heavier judgment," replied the woman; 
 "and it should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could 
 have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old 
 Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I'm 
 not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to see it. We knew 
 pretty well that we were helping ourselves before we met here, 
 I believe. It's no sin. Open the bundle, Joe." 
 
 But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; 
 and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first, produced 
 his plunder. It was not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil- 
 case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of no great value, 
 were all. They were severally examined and appraised by old 
 Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give for each 
 upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found 
 that there was nothing more to come. 
 
 "That's your account," said Joe, "and I wouldn't give 
 another sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who's 
 next.?" 
 
 Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing 
 apparel, two old-fashioned silver tea-spoons, a pair of sugar- 
 tongs, and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wall in 
 the same manner. 
 
 "I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, 
 and that's the way I ruin myself," said old Joe. "That's your 
 account. If you asked me for another penny, and made it an 
 open question, I'd repent of being so liberal, and knock off 
 half-a-crown." 
 
 "And now undo my bundle, Joe," said the first woman. 
 
A Christmas Carol 83 
 
 Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of 
 opening it, and, having unfastened a great many knots, dragged 
 out a large heavy roll of some dark stuff. 
 
 " What do you call this ? " said Joe. " Bed-curtains ? " 
 "All!" returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward 
 on her crossed arms. "Bed-curtains!" 
 
 "You don't mean to say you took 'em down, rings and all, 
 with him lying there.?" said Joe. 
 
 "Yes, I do," replied the woman. "Why not?" 
 "You were born to make your fortune," said Joe, " and you'll 
 certainly do it." 
 
 "I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can get anything 
 in it by reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as He was, 
 I promise you, Joe," returned the woman coolly. "Don't drop 
 that oil upon the blankets, now." 
 "His blankets.!^" asked Joe. 
 
 "Whose else's do you think?" replied the woman. "He 
 isn't likely to take cold without 'em, I dare say." 
 
 "I hope he didn't die of anything catching? Eh?" said 
 old Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up. 
 
 " Don't you be afraid of that," returned the woman. " I an't 
 so fond of his company that I'd loiter about him for such things, 
 if he did. Ah ! You may look through that shirt till your eyes 
 ache; but you won't find a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. 
 It's the best he had, and a fine one too. They'd have wasted 
 it, if it hadn't been for me." 
 
 "What do you call wasting of it ?" asked old Joe. 
 "Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure," replied the 
 woman with a laugh. "Somebody was fool enough to do it, 
 but I took it off again. If calico an't good enough for such a 
 purpose, it isn't good enough for anything. It's quite as be- 
 coming to the body. He can't look uglier than he did in that 
 one." 
 
 Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat 
 
84 A Christmas Carol 
 
 grouped about their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the 
 old man's lamp, he viewed them with a detestation and disgust 
 which could hardly have been greater, though they had been 
 obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed the same woman when old Joe, produc- 
 ing a flannel bag with money in it, told out their several gains 
 upon the ground. *' This is the end of it, you see ! He frightened 
 every one away from him when he was alive, to profit us when 
 he was dead! Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 "Spirit!" said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. "I 
 see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. 
 My life tends tliat way now. Merciful Heaven, what is this.?" 
 
 He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he 
 almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, be- 
 neath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, 
 though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language. 
 
 The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any 
 accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a 
 secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A 
 pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed: 
 and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared 
 for, was the body of this man. 
 
 Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand 
 was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted 
 that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon 
 Scrooge's part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of 
 it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had 
 no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre 
 at his side. 
 
 Oh, cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar 
 here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command : 
 for this is thy dominion ! But of the loved, revered, and honoured 
 head thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or 
 make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy, and 
 
A Christmas Carol 85 
 
 will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse 
 are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the 
 heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man's. Strike, 
 Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the 
 wound, to sow the world with life immortal! 
 
 No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's ears, and yet 
 he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He thought, if 
 this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost 
 thoughts? Avarice, hard dealing, griping cares .^^ They have 
 brought him to a rich end, truly! 
 
 He lay, in the dark, empty house, with not a man, a woman, 
 or a child to say he was kind to me in this or that, and for the 
 memory of one kind word I will be kind to him. A cat was 
 tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats be- 
 neath the hearth-stone. What they wanted in the room of death, 
 and why they were so restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not 
 dare to think. 
 
 "Spirit!" he said, "this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I 
 shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!" 
 
 Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the 
 head. 
 
 "I understand you," Scrooge returned, "and I would do it 
 if I could. But I have not the power. Spirit. I have not the 
 power." 
 
 Again it seemed to look upon him. 
 
 " If there is any person in the town who feels emotion caused 
 by this man's death," said Scrooge, quite agonised, "show that 
 person to me. Spirit! I beseech you." 
 
 The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, 
 like a wing; and, withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, 
 where a mother and her children were. 
 
 She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; 
 for she walked up and down the room; started at every sound; 
 looked out from the window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in 
 
86 A Christmas Carol 
 
 vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly bear the voices 
 of her children in their play. 
 
 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 remark- 
 able 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 hoarding 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, 
 tlien." 
 
 "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 
 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 
 
A Christmas Carol 87 
 
 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 en- 
 gaged 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: 
 
88 A Christmas Carol 
 
 ** I have known him walk with — I have known him walk 
 with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder very fast indeed.*' 
 
 "And so have I," eried Peter. "Often." 
 
 "And so have I," exelaimed another. So had all. 
 
 "But he was very light to earry," 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 tlie family. He looked at the work upon the table, and 
 praised the industry and speed of ISIrs. Cratchit and the girls. 
 They woidd 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 
 tliere on a Sunday. My little, Httle 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 
 
A Christmas Carol 89 
 
 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, in- 
 quired 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 sure 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 part- 
 ing that there was among us?" 
 
 "Never, father!" cried they all. 
 
 "And I know," said Bob, "I know, my dears, that when we 
 
9© A Christmas Carol 
 
 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 liim, 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 tlie 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 chanjje. 
 
 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 
 
A Christmas Carol 91 
 
 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 the 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, follow- 
 ing the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his 
 own name, Ebenezer Scrooge. 
 
 "Am / 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 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 fell before it: "your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. 
 Assure me that 1 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 re- 
 versed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. 
 It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost. 
 
STAVE FIVE 
 
 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 my knees!" 
 
 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 extrava- 
 gance. 
 
 "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 school-boy. I am as 
 giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! 
 
94 
 
 A Christmas Carol 
 
 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 fire-place. *' 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 have 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, clash, 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 sun-light; 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 
 
A Christmas Carol 95 
 
 do anything they Hke. 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 'em to bring it here, that I may give them the directions 
 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 ! " 
 
 The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady 
 hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast. 
 
 "I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's," whispered Scrooge, rubbing 
 his hands, and splitting with a laugh. "He shan't know who 
 sends it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never 
 made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be!" 
 
 The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady 
 one ; but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open 
 the street-door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. 
 As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his 
 eye. 
 
 "I shall love it as long as I live!" cried Scrooge, patting it 
 with his hand. "I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an 
 honest expression it has in its face! It's a wonderful knocker! 
 
96 A Christmas Carol 
 
 — Here's the Turkey. Hallo! Whoop! How are you ? Merry 
 Christmas!" 
 
 It was a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, 
 that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a, minute, 
 like sticks of sealing-wax. 
 
 *'Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town," said 
 Scrooge. "You must have a cab." 
 
 The chuckle with which he said tliis, and the chuckle with 
 which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he 
 paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed 
 the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which 
 he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till 
 he cried. 
 
 Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to 
 shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when 
 you don't dance while you are at it. But, if he had cut the end 
 of his nose off", he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster 
 over it, and been quite satisfied. 
 
 He dressed himself " all in his best," and at last got out into 
 the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he 
 had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and, walk- 
 ing with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one 
 witli a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a 
 word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said, "Good 
 morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge said 
 often afterwards that, of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, 
 tliose were tlie blithest in his ears. 
 
 He had not gone far when, coming on towards him, he beheld 
 the portly gentleman who had walked into his counting-house the 
 dav before, and said, "Scrooge and Marlev's, I believe.'^" It 
 sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman 
 would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path 
 lay straight before him, and he took it. 
 
 "My dear sir," said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and tak- 
 
A Christmas Carol 
 
 97 
 
 ing the old gentleman by both his hands, " how do you do ? I 
 hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A 
 merry Christmas to you, sir!" 
 
 "Mr. Scrooge?" 
 
 "Yes," said Scrooge. "That is my name, and I fear it may 
 not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And 
 
 will you have the goodness " Here Scrooge whispered in 
 
 his ear. 
 
 "Lord bless me!" cried the gentleman, as if his breath were 
 taken away. "My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?" 
 
 "If you please," said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A 
 great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. 
 Will you do me that favour?" 
 
 "My dear sir," said the other, shaking hands with him, "I 
 don't know what to say to such munifi " 
 
 "Don't say anything, please," retorted Scrooge. "Come 
 and see me. Will you come and see me?" 
 
 "I will!" cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he 
 meant to do it. 
 
 "Thankee," said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I 
 thank you fifty times. Bless you!" 
 
 He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched 
 the people hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the 
 head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens 
 of houses, and up to the windows; and found that everything 
 could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any 
 walk — that anything — could give him so much happiness. 
 In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew's house. 
 
 He passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage 
 to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it. 
 
 "Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the 
 girl. Nice girl! Very. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Where is he, my love?" said Scrooge. 
 
98 A Christmas Carol 
 
 "IIo's In tlio dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll 
 show YOU up-stairs. if you please." 
 
 "Thankee, lie knows me," said Serooge, with his hand 
 alnwdy on the dining-room loek. "I'll go in here, my dear." 
 
 He turned it jrentlv, and sidled his faee in round the door. 
 They were looking at the table (whieh was spi*ead out in great 
 array V, for these young housekeepers are always nervous on 
 sueh points, and like to see that everything is right. 
 
 **Fred!" said Serooge. 
 
 Dear heart alive, how his nieee by marriage started! 
 Serooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in 
 the eorner with the footstool, or he wouldn't have done it on 
 any aeeouut. 
 
 **Why, bless my soul!" eried Trod, "who's that?" 
 
 "It's I. Your unele Serooge. 1 have eome to dinner. 
 AVill you let me in, Fred.-" 
 
 Let him in! It is a merey he didn't shake his arm otV. He 
 was at home in live minutes. Nothiui^r eould be heartier. His 
 nieee lookinl just the same. So did Topper when //<- ean\e. So 
 did the plump sister when she eame. So did every one when 
 thrif eame. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful 
 unanimity, won-der-ful happiness! 
 
 Hut he was early at the otHee next morning. Oh. he was 
 early there! If he eould only be there tirst. and eateh Bob 
 Cratehit eoniing late! That was the thing he had set his heart 
 Ufx^n. 
 
 And he did it; yes, he did! The eloek struck nine. No 
 Bob. A quarter past. No Bob, He was full eighttvn minutes 
 and a half behind his time. Serooge sat with his door wide 
 open, that he might see him eome into the tank. 
 
 His hat was otf before he opened the door: his comforter too. 
 He was on his stool in a jitfy; driving away with his jhmi. as if he 
 weiv trying to overtake nine o'eloek. 
 
 "Hallo!" growled Scrtx^ge in his accustomed voice as near 
 
A Chris']' MAS Carol 
 
 99 
 
 as he could feign it. "What do you mean by<!oming here at 
 this time of day?" 
 
 "I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I am behind my time." 
 
 "You are!" rc})eated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. 
 Step this way, sir, if you pk'ase." 
 
 "It's only on(;e a year, sir," })leadcd Bob, appearing from 
 the tank. "It shall not be repeated. 1 was making rather 
 merry yesterday, sir." 
 
 "Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge. "I am 
 not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," 
 he contiiuied, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig 
 in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the tank again: 
 "and therefore I am about to raise your salary!" 
 
 Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. lie had 
 a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding 
 him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait- 
 waistcoat. 
 
 "A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge with an earnestness 
 that could not be mistaken, as he cla})))ed him on the back. 
 "A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given 
 you for many a year! I'll raise your salary, and endeavour to 
 assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs 
 this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop. 
 Bob! Make up the fires and buy another coal-scuttle before 
 you dot another i. Bob Cratchit!" 
 
 Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and in- 
 finitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second 
 father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and 
 as good a man as the good old City knew, or any other good old 
 city, town, or borough in the good old world. Some people 
 laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and 
 little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing 
 ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people 
 
loo A Christmas Carol 
 
 did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and, knowing 
 tliat sueh as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite 
 as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins as have 
 the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: 
 and that was quite enough for him. 
 
 He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon 
 the Total-Abstinence Principle ever afterwards: and it was 
 always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, 
 if any nuin alive possessed the knowledge. INIay that be truly 
 said of us, and all of us ! And so, i\s Tiny Tim observed, God 
 bless Us, Every One! 
 
THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH 
 
THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH 
 
 A FAIRY TALE OF HOME 
 
 r 
 
 CHIRP THE FIRST 
 
 THE kettle began it! Don't tell me what Mrs. Peery- 
 bingle said. 1 know better. Mrs. Peerybingle may 
 leave it on record to the end of time that she couldn't 
 say which of them began it; but I say the kettle did. I ought 
 to know, I hope ? The kettle began it, full five minutes by the 
 little waxy-faced Dutch clock in the corner, before the Cricket 
 uttered a chirp. 
 
 As if the clock hadn't finished striking, and the convulsive 
 little Hay-maker at the top of it, jerking away right and left 
 with a scythe in front of a Moorish Palace, hadn't mowed down 
 half an acre of imaginary grass before the Cricket joined in 
 at all! 
 
 Why, I am not naturally positive. Every one knows that I 
 wouldn't set my own opinion against the opinion of Mrs. Peery- 
 bingle, unless I were quite sure, on any account whatever. 
 Nothing should induce me. But, this is a question of fact. 
 And the fact is, that the kettle began it at least five minutes 
 before the Cricket gave any sign of being in existence. Contra- 
 dict me, and I'll say ten. 
 
 Let me narrate exactly how it happened. I should have 
 proceeded to do so, in my very first word, but for this plain con- 
 sideration — if I am to tell a story I must begin at the beginning; 
 
I04 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 and how is it possible to begin at the beginning without begin- 
 ning at the kettle ? 
 
 It appeared as if there were a sort of match, or trial of skill, 
 you must understand, between the kettle and the Cricket. And 
 this is what led to it, and how it came about. 
 
 Mrs. Peei-ybingle, going out into the raw twilight, and click- 
 ing over the wet stones in a pair of pattens that worked in- 
 numerable rough impressions of the first proposition in Euclid 
 all about the yard — Mrs. Peerybiuglo tilled the kettle at the 
 water-butt. Presently returning, less the pattens (and a good 
 deal less, for they were tall, and Mrs. Peerybingle was but 
 short), she set the kettle on the fire. In doing which she lost 
 her temper, or mislaid it for an instant; for, the water being 
 uncomfortably cold, and in that slippy, slushy, sleety sort of state 
 wherein it seems to penetrate through every kind of substance, 
 patten rings included — had laid hold of Mrs. Peerybingle's 
 toes, and even splashed her legs. And when we rather plume 
 GUI-selves (with reason too) upon our legs, and keep ourselves 
 particularly neat in point of stockings, we find this, for the 
 moment, hard to bear. 
 
 Besides, the kettle was aggravating and obstinate. It 
 wouldn't allow itself to be adjusted on the top bar; it wouldn't 
 hear of accommodating itself kindly to the knobs of coal; it 
 would lean forward with a drunken air, and dribble, a very 
 Idiot of a kettle, on the hearth. It was quarrelsome, and hissed 
 and spluttered morosely at the fire. To sum up all, the lid, 
 resisting Mrs. Peerybingle's fingers, first of all turned topsy- 
 turvy, and then, with an ingenious pertinacity deserving of a 
 better cause, dived sideways in — down to the very bottom of 
 the kettle. And the hull of the Royal George has never made 
 half the monstrous resistance to coming out of the water which 
 the lid of that kettle employed against Mrs. Peerybingle before 
 she got it up again. 
 
 It looked sullen and pig-headed enough, even then; carrying 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 105 
 
 its handle with an air of defiance, and cocking its spout pertly 
 and mockingly at Mrs. Peerybingle, as if it said, *'I won't boil. 
 Nothing shall induce me!" 
 
 But, Mrs. Peerybingle, with restored good-humour, dusted 
 her chubby little hands against each other, and sat down 
 before the kettle laughing. Meantime, the jolly blaze uprose 
 and fell, flashing and gleaming on the little Hay-maker at the top 
 of the Dutch clock, until one might have thought he stood stock- 
 still before the Moorish Palace, and nothing was in motion 
 but the flame. 
 
 He was on the move, however; and had his spasms, two to 
 the second, all right and regular. But his sufferings when the 
 clock was going to strike were frightful to behold; and when a 
 Cuckoo looked out of a trap-door in the Palace, and gave note 
 six times, it shook him, each time, like a spectral voice — or 
 like a something wiry plucking at his legs. 
 
 It was not until a violent commotion and a whirring noise 
 among the weights and ropes below him had quite subsided 
 that this terrified Hay-maker became himself again. Nor was 
 he startled without reason; for these rattling, bony skeletons 
 of clocks are very disconcerting in their operation, and I 
 wonder very much how any set of men, but most of all how 
 Dutchmen, can have had a liking to invent them. There 
 is a popular belief that Dutchmen love broad cases and much 
 clothing for their own lower selves; and they might know 
 better than to leave their clocks so very lank and unprotected, 
 surely. 
 
 Now it was, you observe, that the kettle began to spend the 
 evening. Now it was that the kettle, growing mellow and musi- 
 cal, began to have irrepressible gurglings in its throat, and to 
 indulge in short vocal snorts, which it checked in the bud, as 
 if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet to be good company. 
 Now it was that after two or three such vain attempts to stifle 
 its convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all reserve, 
 
io6 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 and burst into a stream of song so cosy and hilarious as never 
 maudlin nightingale yet formed the least idea of. 
 
 So plain, too! Bless you, you might have understood it like 
 a book — better than some books you and I could name, per- 
 haps. With its warm breath gushing forth in a light cloud 
 which merrily and gracefully ascended a few feet, then hung 
 about the chimney-corner as its own domestic Heaven, it trolled 
 its song with that strong energy of cheerfulness, that its iron 
 body hummed and stirred upon the fire; and the lid itself, the 
 recently rebellious lid — such is the influence of a bright ex- 
 ample — performed a sort of jig, and clattered like a deaf and 
 dumb young cymbal that had never known the use of its twin 
 brother. 
 
 That this song of the kettle's was a song of invitation and 
 welcome to somebody out of doors : to somebody at that moment 
 coming on towards the snug small home and the crisp fire: 
 there is no doubt whatever. Mrs. Peerybingle knew it per- 
 fectly, as she sat musing before the hearth. It's a dark night, 
 sang the kettle, and the rotten leaves are lying by the way; and, 
 above, all is mist and darkness, and, below, all is mire and clay; 
 and there's only one relief in all the sad and murky air; and I 
 don't know that it is one, for it's nothing but a glare; of deep 
 and angry crimson, where the sun and wind together; set a 
 brand upon the clouds for being guilty of such weather; and the 
 widest open country is a long dull streak of black; and there's 
 hoar frost on the finger-post, and thaw upon the track; and the 
 ice it isn't water, and the water isn't free; and you couldn't say 
 that anything is what it ought to be; but he's coming, coming, 
 coming! — 
 
 And here, if you like, the Cricket did chime in! with a 
 Chirrup, Chirrup, Chirrup of such magnitude, by way of chorus ; 
 with a voice so astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as com- 
 pared with the kettle; (size! you couldn't see it!) that, if it had 
 then and there burst itself like an overcharged gun, if it had 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 107 
 
 fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its little body into 
 fifty pieces, it would have seemed a natural and inevitable con- 
 sequence, for which it had expressly laboured. 
 
 The kettle had had the last of its solo performance. It 
 persevered with undiminished ardour; but the Cricket took 
 first fiddle, and kept it. Good Heaven, how it chirped! Its 
 shrill, sharp, piercing voice resounded through the house, and 
 seemed to twinkle in the outer darkness like a star. There was 
 an indescribable little trill and tremble in it at its loudest, which 
 suggested its being carried off its legs, and made to leap 
 again, by its own intense enthusiasm. Yet they went very 
 well together, the Cricket and the kettle. The burden of the 
 song was still the same; and louder, louder, louder still, they 
 sang it in their emulation. 
 
 The fair little listener — for fair she was, and young; though 
 something of what is called the dumpling shape; but I don't 
 myself object to that — lighted a candle, glanced at the Hay- 
 maker on the top of the clock, who was getting in a pretty average 
 crop of minutes; and looked out of the window, where she saw 
 nothing, owing to the darkness, but her own face imaged in the 
 glass. And my opinion is (and so would yours have been) that 
 she might have looked a long way and seen nothing half so 
 agreeable. When she came back, and sat down in her former 
 seat, the Cricket and the kettle were still keeping it up, with a 
 perfect fury of competition. The kettle's weak side clearly 
 being that he didn't know when he was beat. 
 
 There was all the excitement of a race about it. Chirp, 
 chirp, chirp ! Cricket a mile ahead. Hum, hum, hum — m — m ! 
 Kettle making play in the distance, like a great top. Chirp, 
 chirp, chirp! Cricket round the corner. Hum, hum, hum — m 
 — m! Kettle sticking to him in his own way; no idea of giving 
 in. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket fresher than ever. Hum, 
 hum, hum — m — m! Kettle slow and steady. Chirp, chirp, 
 chirp! Cricket going in to finish him. Hum, hum, hum — m 
 
io8 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 — m! Kettle not to be finished. Until at last they got so 
 jumbleil togetlier, in the hiirry-skurry, helter-skelter, of the 
 mateh, that whether the kettle ehirped and the Crieket hiinnned, 
 or the Crieket ehirped and the kettle luimnied, or they both 
 chirped and both huninied, it wonld have taken a clearer head 
 than yonrs or mine to have decided with anything like certainty. 
 lUit of this there is no donbt : that, the kettle and the Cricket, at 
 one and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation 
 best known to themselves, sent, each, his iireside song of com- 
 fort streaming into a ray of the candle that shone out through 
 the window, and a long way down the lane. And this light, 
 bursting on a certain person who, on the instant, approached 
 towards it throngli the gloom, expressed the whole thing to him, 
 literally in a twinkling, and cried, "AVelcome home, old fellow! 
 Welcome home, my boy!" 
 
 This end attained, the kettle, being dead beat, boiled over, 
 and was taken otY the tire. ]Mrs. IVerybingle then went 
 running to the door, where, what with the wheels of a cart, 
 the tramp of a horse, tlie voice of a man, tlie tearing in and 
 out of an excited dog, and the surprising and mysterious 
 appearance of a baby, there was soon the very AYhat's-his- 
 name to play. 
 
 Where the baby came from, or how^ Mrs. Peerybingle got 
 hold of it in that Hash of time, / don't know. But a live baby 
 there was in ^Irs. Peerybingle's arms; and a pretty tolerable 
 amount of pride she seemed to have in it, when she was drawn 
 gently to the tire, by a sturdy iigure of a man, nuich taller and 
 much older tlian herself, who had to stoop a long way down to 
 kiss her. But she was worth the trouble. Six foot six, with 
 the lumbatxo, miirht have done it. 
 
 "Oh goodness, John!" said Mrs. P. "What a state you're 
 in with the weather!" 
 
 He was something the worse for it undeniably. The thick 
 mist hung in clots upon his eyelashes like candied thaw; and, 
 
"A dot (ind" — here he (/la need td the hnhy — "n dot and carry — / won't say it, 
 for jcor I should spoil it ; txit I mas very near a. joke." 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 109 
 
 between the fog and fire together, there were rainbows in his 
 very whiskers. 
 
 "Why, you see. Dot," John made answer slowly, as he un- 
 rolled a shawl from about his throat, and warmed his hands; 
 "it — it an't exactly summer weather. So no wonder." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't call me Dot, John. I don't like it," 
 said Mrs. Peerybingle: pouting in a way that clearly showed she 
 did like it very much. 
 
 "Why, what else are you.?" returned John, looking down 
 upon her with a smile, and giving her waist as light a squeeze 
 as his huge hand and arm could give. "A dot and" — here he 
 glanced at the baby — "a dot and carry — I won't say it, for 
 fear I should spoil it; but I was very near a joke. I don't know 
 as ever I was nearer." 
 
 He was often near to something or other very clever, by his 
 own account: this lumbering, slow, honest John; this John so 
 heavy, but so light of spirit; so rough upon the surface, but so 
 gentle at the core; so dull without, so quick within; so stolid, 
 but so good! Oh, Mother Nature, give thy children the true 
 poetry of heart that hid itself in this poor Carrier's breast — he 
 was but a Carrier, by the way — and we can bear to have them 
 talking prose, and leading lives of prose; and bear to bless thee 
 for their company! 
 
 It was pleasant to see Dot, with her little figure and her 
 baby in her arms : a very doll of a baby : glancing with a coquettish 
 thoughtfulness at the fire, and inclining her delicate little head 
 just enough on one side to let it rest in an odd, half-natural, 
 half-affected, wholly nestling and agreeable manner, on the 
 great rugged figure of the Carrier. It was pleasant to see him, 
 with his tender awkwardness, endeavouring to adapt his rude 
 support to her slight need, and make his burly middle age a 
 leaning-staff not inappropriate to her blooming youth. It was 
 pleasant to observe how Tilly Slowboy, waiting in the back- 
 ground for the baby, took special cognizance (though in her 
 
no The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 earliest teens) of this grouping ; and stood with her mouth and 
 eyes wide open, and her head thrust forward, taking it in as if 
 it were air. Nor was it less agreeable to observe how John the 
 Carrier, reference being made by Dot to the aforesaid baby, 
 checked his hand when on the point of touching the infant, as if 
 he thought he might crack it; and, bending down, surveyed it 
 from a safe distance, with a kind of puzzled pride, such as an 
 amiable mastiff might be supposed to show if he found himself, 
 one day, the father of a young canary. 
 
 "An't he beautiful, John ? Don't he look precious in his 
 sleep?" 
 
 *' Very precious," said John. " Very much so. He generally 
 is asleep, an't he.'^" 
 
 *'Lor, John! Good gracious, no!" 
 
 "Oh!" said John, pondering. "I thought his eyes was 
 generally shut. "Halloa!" 
 
 "Goodness, John, how you startle one!" 
 
 "It an't right for him to turn 'em up in that way," said the 
 astonished Carrier, " is it ? See how he's winking with both 
 of 'em at once! and look at his mouth! AVhy, he's gasping like 
 a gold and silver fish!" 
 
 "You don't deserve to be a father, you don't," said Dot, 
 with all the dignity of an experienced matron. "But how 
 should you know what little complaints children are troubled 
 with, John ? You wouldn't so much as know their names, you 
 stupid fellow." And when she had turned the baby over on 
 her left arm, and had slapped its back as a restorative, she 
 pinched her husband's ear, laughing. 
 
 "No," said John, pulling off his outer coat. "It's very true. 
 Dot. I don't know much about it. I only know that I've 
 been fighting pretty stiffly with the wind to-night. It's been 
 blowing north-east, straight into the cart, the whole way home." 
 
 "Poor old man, so it has!" cried ]Mrs. Peerybingle, instantly 
 becoming very active. " Here, take the precious darling, Tilly, 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth m 
 
 while I make myself of some use. Bless it, I could smother it 
 with kissing it, 1 could ! Hie then, good dog! Hie, Boxer, boy! 
 Only let me make the tea first, John; and then I'll help you 
 with the parcels, like a busy bee. 'How doth the little' — and 
 all the rest of it, you know, John. Did you ever learn 'How 
 doth the little,' when you went to school, John.?" 
 
 "Not to quite know it," John returned. "1 was very near 
 it once. But I should only have spoilt it, 1 dare say." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Dot. She had the blithest little laugh 
 you ever heard. "What a dear old darling of a dunce you are, 
 John, to be sure!" 
 
 Not at all disputing this position, John went out to see that 
 the boy with the lantern, which had been dancing to and fro 
 before the door and window, like a Will of the Wisp, took due 
 care of the horse; who was fatter than you would quite believe, 
 if I gave you his measure, and so old that his birthday was lost 
 in the mists of antiquity. Boxer, feeling that his attentions 
 were due to the family in general, and must be impartially dis- 
 tributed, dashed in and out with bewildering inconstancy; now 
 describing a circle of short barks round the horse, where he was 
 being rubbed down at the stable door; now feigning to make 
 savage rushes at his mistress, and facetiously bringing himself 
 to sudden stops; now eliciting a shriek from Tilly Slowboy, in 
 the low nursing-chair near the fire, by the unexpected applica- 
 tion of his moist nose to her countenance; now exhibiting an 
 obtrusive interest in the baby; now going round and round upon 
 the hearth, and lying down as if he had established himself for 
 the night; now getting up again, and taking that nothing of a 
 fag-end of a tail of his out into the weather, as if he had just 
 remembered an appointment, and was off at a round trot, to 
 keep it. 
 
 "There! There's the teapot, ready on the hob!" said Dot; 
 as briskly busy as a child at play at keeping house. " And there's 
 the cold knuckle of ham; and there's the butter; and there's the 
 
112 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 crusty loaf, and all! Here's a clothes-basket for the small 
 parcels, John, if you've got any there. Where are you, John? 
 Don't let the dear child fall under the grate, Tilly, whatever you 
 do!" 
 
 It may be noted of Miss Slowboy, in spite of her rejecting 
 the caution with some vivacity, that she had a rare and surprising 
 talent for getting this baby into difficulties: and had several 
 times imperilled its short life in a quiet way peculiarly her own. 
 She was of a spare and straight shape, this young lady, inso- 
 much that her garments appeared to be in constant danger of 
 sliding off those sharp pegs, her shoulders, on which they were 
 loosely hung. Her costume was remarkable for the partial 
 development, on all possible occasions, of some flannel vest- 
 ment of a singular structure; also for affording glimpses, in the 
 region of the back, of a corset, or a pair of stays, in colour a dead 
 green. Being always in a state of gaping admiration at every- 
 thing, and absorbed, besides, in the perpetual contemplation of 
 her mistress's perfections and the baby's. Miss Slowboy, in her 
 little errors of judgment, may be said to have done equal honour 
 to her head and to her heart; and though these did less honour 
 to the baby's head, which they were the occasional means of 
 bringing into contact with deal doors, dressers, stair-rails, bed- 
 posts, and other foreign substances, still they were the honest 
 results of Tilly Slowboy's constant astonishment at finding her- 
 self so kindly treated, and installed in such a comfortable home. 
 For the maternal and paternal Slowboy were alike unknown 
 to Fame, and Tilly had been bred by public charity, a foundling; 
 which word, though only differing from fondling by one vowel's 
 length, is very different in meaning, and expresses quite another 
 thing. 
 
 To have seen little Mrs. Peerybingle come back with her 
 husband, tugging at the clothesbasket, and making the most 
 strenuous exertions to do nothing at all (for he carried it), would 
 have amused you almost as much as it amused him. It may 
 
Tillij Slowhoy. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 113 
 
 have entertained the Cricket, too, for anything I know; but, 
 certainly, it now began to chirp again vehemently. 
 
 "Heyday!" said John in his slow way. "It's merrier than 
 ever to-night, I think." 
 
 "And it's sure to bring us good fortune, John! It always 
 has done so. To have a Cricket on the Hearth is the luckiest 
 thing in all the world!" 
 
 John looked at her as if he had very nearly got the thought 
 into his head that she was his Cricket in chief, and he quite 
 agreed with her. But it was probably one of his narrow escapes, 
 for he said nothing. 
 
 "The first time I heard its cheerful little note, John, was on 
 that night when you brought me home — when you brought 
 me to my new home here; its little mistress. Nearly a year 
 ago. You recollect, John?" 
 
 Oh, yes! John remembered. I should think so! 
 
 "Its chirp was such a welcome to me! It seemed so full of 
 promise and encouragement. It seemed to say, you would be 
 kind and gentle with me, and would not expect (I had a fear of 
 that, John, then) to find an old head on the shoulders of your 
 foolish little wife." 
 
 John thoughtfully patted one of the shoulders, and then the 
 head, as though he would have said No, no; he had had no such 
 expectation; he had been quite content to take them as they were. 
 And really he had reason. They were very comely. 
 
 " It spoke the truth, John, when it seemed to say so : for you 
 have ever been, I am sure, the best, the most considerate, the 
 most affectionate of husbands to me. This has been a happy 
 home, John; and I love the Cricket for its sake!" 
 
 "Why, so do I, then," said the Carrier. "So do I, Dot." 
 
 "I love it for the many times I have heard it, and the many 
 thoughts its harmless music has given me. Sometimes, in the 
 twilight, when I have felt a little solitary and down-hearted, 
 John — before baby was here, to keep me company and make 
 
114 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 the house gay — when I have thought how lonely you would be 
 if I should die; how lonely I should be, if I could know that you 
 had lost me, dear; its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp upon the hearth has 
 seemed to tell me of another little voice, so sweet, so very dear 
 to me, before whose coming sound my trouble vanished like a 
 dream. And when I used to fear — I did fear once, John; I 
 was very young, you know — that ours might prove to be an 
 ill-assorted marriage, I being such a child, and you more like 
 my guardian than my husband; and that you might not, how- 
 ever hard you tried, be able to learn to love me, as you hoped 
 and prayed you might; its Chirp, Chirp, Chirp has cheered me 
 up again, and filled me with new trust and confidence. I was 
 thinking of these things to-night, dear, when I sat expecting 
 you; and I love the Cricket for their sake!" 
 
 *'And so do I," repeated John. "But, Dot! / hope and 
 pray that I might learn to love you ? How you talk ! I had 
 learnt that long before I brought you here, to be the Cricket's 
 little mistress. Dot!" 
 
 She laid her hand, an instant, on his arm, and looked up at 
 him with an agitated face, as if she would have told him some- 
 thing. Next moment, she was down upon her knees before the 
 basket; speaking in a sprightly voice, and busy with the parcels. 
 
 "There are not many of them to-night, John, but I saw some 
 goods behind the cart just now; and though they give more 
 trouble, perhaps, still they pay as well; so we have no reason to 
 grumble, have we.^ Besides, you have been delivering, I dare 
 say, as you came along .^" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" John said. "A good many." 
 
 "Why, what's this round box.? Heart alive, John, it's a 
 wedding-cake!" 
 
 "Leave a woman alone to find out that," said John ad- 
 miringly. "Now, a man would never have thought of it! 
 Whereas, it's my belief that if you was to pack a wedding-cake 
 up in a tea-chest, or a turn-up bedstead, or a pickled-salmon 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 115 
 
 keg, or any unlikely thing, a woman would be sure to find it out 
 directly. Yes; I called for it at the pastrycook's." 
 
 "And it weighs I don't know what — whole hundred- 
 weights!" cried Dot, making a great demonstration of trying 
 to lift it. "Whose is it, John.? Where is it going.?" 
 
 "Read the writing on the other side," said John. 
 
 "Why, John! My Goodness, John!" 
 
 "Ah! who'd have thought it.?" John returned. 
 
 "You never mean to say," pursued Dot, sitting on the floor 
 and shaking her head at him, "that it's Gruff and Tackleton the 
 toymaker!" 
 
 John nodded. 
 
 Mrs. Peerybingle nodded also, fifty times at least. Not in 
 assent — in dumb and pitying amazement; screwing up her 
 lips, the while, with all their little force (they were never made 
 for screwing up; I am clear of that), and looking the good Carrier 
 through and through, in her abstraction. Miss Slowboy, in the 
 meantime, who had a mechanical power of reproducing scraps 
 of current conversation for the delectation of the baby, with all 
 the sense struck out of them, and all the nouns changed into 
 the plural number, inquired aloud of that young creature. Was 
 it Gruffs and Tackletons the toymakers then, and Would it call 
 at Pastrycooks for wedding-cakes, and Did its mothers know 
 the boxes when its fathers brought them home; and so on. 
 
 "And that is really to come about!" said Dot. "Why, she 
 and I were girls at school together, John." 
 
 He might have been thinking of her, or nearly thinking of 
 her, perhaps, as she was in that same school-time. He looked 
 upon her with a thoughtful pleasure, but he made no answer. 
 
 "And he's as old! As unlike her! — Why, how many 
 years older than you is Gruff and Tackleton, John ? " 
 
 "How many more cups of tea shall I drink to-night, at one 
 sitting, than Gruff and Tackleton ever took in four, I wonder?" 
 replied John good-humouredly, as he drew a chair to the round 
 
ii6 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 table, and began at the cold ham. "As to eating, I eat but 
 little; but that little I enjoy, Dot." 
 
 Even this, his usual sentiment at meal-times, one of his 
 innocent delusions (for his appetite was always obstinate, and 
 flatly contradicted him), awoke no smile in the face of his little 
 wife, who stood among the parcels, pushing the cake-box slowly 
 from her with her foot, and never once looked, though her eyes 
 were cast down too, upon the dainty shoe she generally was so 
 mindful of. Absorbed in thought, she stood there, heedless 
 alike of the tea and John (although he called to her and rapped 
 the table with his knife to startle her), until he rose and touched 
 her on the arm; when she looked at him for a moment, and 
 hurried to her place behind the tea-board, laughing at her 
 negligence. But not as she had laughed before. The manner 
 and the music were quite changed. 
 
 The Cricket, too, had stopped. Somehow, the room was 
 not so cheerful as it had been. Nothing like it. 
 
 "So, these are all the parcels, are they, John.^" she said, 
 breaking a long silence, which the honest Carrier had devoted 
 to the practical illustration of one part of his favourite sentiment 
 — certainly enjoying what he ate, if it couldn't be admitted that 
 he ate but little. " So these are all the parcels, are they, John .?" 
 
 "That's all," said John. "Why— no— I" — laying down his 
 knife and fork, and taking a long breath — "I declare — I've 
 clean forgotten the old gentleman!" 
 
 "The old gentleman.?" 
 
 "In the cart," said John. "He was asleep among the straw, 
 the last time I saw him. I've very nearly remembered him, 
 twice, since I came in; but he went out of my head again. 
 Halloa! Yahip there! Rouse up! That's my hearty!" 
 
 John said these latter words outside the door, whither he had 
 hurried with the candle in his hand. 
 
 Miss Slowboy, conscious of some mysterious reference to 
 The Old Gentleman, and connecting, in her mystified imagina- 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 117 
 
 tion, certain associations of a religious nature with the phrase, 
 was so disturbed, that hastily rising from the low chair by the 
 fire to seek protection near the skirt of her mistress, and coming 
 into contact, as she crossed the doorway, with an ancient Stranger, 
 she instinctively made a charge or butt at him with the only 
 offensive instrument within her reach. This instrument hap- 
 pening to be the baby, great commotion and alarm ensued, 
 which the sagacity of Boxer rather tended to increase; for that 
 good dog, more thoughtful than his master, had, it seemed, been 
 watching the old gentleman in his sleep, lest he should walk off 
 with a few young poplar- trees that were tied up behind the cart; 
 and he still attended on him very closely, worrying his gaiters, 
 in fact, and making dead sets at the buttons. 
 
 "You're such an undeniably good sleeper, sir," said John, 
 when tranquillity was restored (in the meantime the old gentle- 
 man had stood, bareheaded and motionless, in the centre of the 
 room), "that I have half a mind to ask you where the other six 
 are — only that would be a joke, and I know I should spoil it. 
 Very near, though," murmured the Carrier with a chuckle; 
 very near! 
 
 The Stranger, who had long white hair, good features, 
 singularly bold and well defined for an old man, and dark, bright, 
 penetrating eyes, looked round with a smile, and saluted the 
 Carrier's wife by gravely inclining his head. 
 
 His garb was very quaint and odd — a long, long way behind 
 the time. Its hue was brown, all over. In his hand he held a 
 great brown club or walking-stick; and, striking this upon the 
 floor, it fell asunder, and became a chair. On which he sat 
 down quite composedly. 
 
 "There!" said the Carrier, turning to his wife. "That's 
 the way I found him, sitting by the roadside! Upright as a 
 milestone. And almost as deaf." 
 
 "Sitting in the open air, John.^" 
 
 "In the open air," replied the Carrier, "just at dusk. 'Car- 
 
ii8 The CkicrI'.t on 'riii< 111'. ART n 
 
 rin»;(* Paid,' he said; ami «;avt' \\\c (m^1iU'(M»-|hmkv. Then ho 
 got in. A!»(l there lie is." 
 
 "lie's j2;oi!i|jj, Jolni, 1 think!" 
 
 Not at all. lie was only {^ointij to speak. 
 
 "ir you pltNise, I was to he left till eallcil for," said tlic 
 Stranger mildly. "Don't mind me." 
 
 With Ihal he look a pair of sjHU'taeles from one of Ids lar<^e 
 pockets, and a hook from another, and leisnrely he^an to read. 
 Makini; no more of lh>\er than if he had hetMi a honse land)! 
 
 'The Carrier and his wife e\ehan<j;(Ml a look of [)erplexity. 
 The Stranjjjer raised his head; and, <;laneing from the latter to 
 the former, said : 
 
 "\'onr dnn<!:httM*, my irood friend?" 
 
 " Wile," retnrnt'd ,h)hn. 
 
 "Niece?" said the Stranger. 
 
 "Wife!" roariMl John. 
 
 " Indtuul ?" ohservod tlu^ StrangtM-. "Stin^ly? Veryyonng!" 
 
 lie (piiiMly turned over, and resumed his reading. Hut, 
 before he could have read two lines, he again inlerrui)ted him- 
 self to say: 
 
 " Kahy yours?" 
 
 ,Iohn gave him a gigantic nod: e(|nivalent to an answer in 
 the allirmative, dt'livercil through a speaking trumpet. 
 
 "(Jirl?" 
 
 "Ho-o-oy!" mared .lohn. 
 
 " Also V(M-y young, eh ?" 
 
 INIrs. IVeryhingle instantly struck in. "Two months and 
 IhriH' da-ays. Vaceimded just six wctd-;s ago-o! Took very 
 <ine-Iy! Considered, hy the doctor, a riMuarkahly heantifnl 
 ehi-ild! V'(|ual to the gentMal run ol' children at i\\c months t)-ld! 
 Takes notici^ in a way (juile wt>ndtM- Tul! I\lay seem imj)ossible 
 to you, but feels his legs al-ready!" 
 
 llen\ Ihc br«>alhlcss lillle n)olluM-, who had been shrieking 
 those short stMiltMuvs intt) the oKl man's ci\\\ until her pretty 
 
IF W '^jn 
 
 If w;mmmmi'imm'm 
 
 "IVi./i.l's the 'may I joand liJ.ni,, kUIuu/ hi/ llic rixiil.-'ulc! 
 Uprif/fU (iH a milcxlone." 
 
^ 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 119 
 
 face was crimsoned, held up the Baby before him as a stubborn 
 and triumphant fact; while Tilly Slowboy, with a melodious 
 cry of "Ketcher, Ketcher" — which sounded like some unknown 
 words, adapted to a popular Sneeze — performed some cow- 
 like gambols around that all unconscious Innocent. 
 
 " Hark ! He's called for, sure enough," said John. " There's 
 somebody at the door. Open it, Tilly." 
 
 Before she could reach it, however, it was opened from with- 
 out; being a primitive sort of door, with a latch that any one could 
 lift if he chose — and a good many people did choose, for all 
 kinds of neighbours liked to have a cheerful word or two with 
 the Carrier, though he was no great talker himself. Being 
 opened, it gave admission to a little, meagre, thoughtful, dingy- 
 faced man, who seemed to have made himself a great-coat from 
 the sackcloth covering of some old box; for, when he turned to 
 shut the door and keep the weather out, he disclosed upon the 
 back of that garment the inscription G & T in large black cap- 
 itals. Also the word GLASS in bold characters. 
 
 " Good evening, John!" said the little man. " Good evening, 
 mum! Good evening, Tilly! Good evening. Unbeknown! 
 How's Baby, mum.? Boxer's pretty well I hope.?" 
 
 "All thriving, Caleb," replied Dot. "I am sure you need 
 only look at the dear child, for one, to know that." 
 
 "And I'm sure I need only look at you for another," said 
 Caleb. 
 
 He didn't look at her, though; he had a wandering and 
 thoughtful eye, which seemed to be always projecting itself 
 into some other time and place, no matter what he said; a de- 
 scription which will equally apply to his voice. 
 
 "Or at John for another," said Caleb. "Or at Tilly, as 
 far as that goes. Or certainly at Boxer." 
 
 "Busy just now, Caleb.?" asked the Carrier. 
 
 "Why, pretty well, John," he returned, with the distraught 
 air of a man who was casting about for the Philosopher's stone. 
 
I20 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 at least. "Pretty much so. There's rather a run on Noah's 
 Arks at present. I could have wished to improve on the Family, 
 but I don't see how it's to be done at the price. It would be 
 a satisfaction to one's mind to make it clearer which was Shems 
 and Hams, and which was Wives. Flies an't on that scale, 
 neither, as compared with elephants, you know! Ah, well! 
 Have you got anything in the parcel line for me, John.?" 
 
 The Carrier put his hand into a pocket of the coat he had 
 taken off; and brought out, carefully preserved in moss and 
 paper, a tiny flower-pot. 
 
 "There it is!" he said, adjusting it with great care. "Not 
 so much as a leaf damaged. Full of buds!" 
 
 Caleb's dull eye brightened as he took it, and thanked him. 
 
 " Dear, Caleb," said the Carrier. " Very dear at this season." 
 
 "Never mind that. It would be cheap to me, what ever it 
 cost," returned the little man. "Anything else, John.?" 
 
 "A small box," replied the Carrier. "Here you are!" 
 
 "'For Caleb Plummer,'" said the little man, spelling out 
 the direction. "'With Cash.' With Cash, John.? I don't 
 think it's for me." 
 
 "With Care," returned the Carrier, looking over his shoulder. 
 "Where do you make out cash.?" 
 
 "Oh! To be sure!" said Caleb. "It's all right. With 
 care! Yes, yes; that's mine. It might have been with cash, 
 indeed, if my dear Boy in the Golden South Americas had lived, 
 John. You loved him like a son; didn't you .? You needn't say 
 you did. I know, of course. * Caleb Plummer. With care.' 
 Yes, yes, it's all right. It's a box of dolls' eyes for my daughters' 
 work. I wish it was her own sight in a box, John." 
 
 "I wish it was, or could be!" cried the Carrier. 
 
 "Thankee," said the little man. "You speak very hearty. 
 To think that she should never see the Dolls — and them a 
 staring at her, so bold, all day long! That's where it cuts. 
 What's the damage, John.?" 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 121 
 
 "I'll damage you," said John, *'if you inquire. Dot! Very 
 near ? 
 
 " Well ! it's like you to say so," observed the little man. *' It's 
 your kind way. Let me see. I think that's all." 
 
 "I think not," said the Carrier. "Try again." 
 
 " Something for our Governor, eh .?" said Caleb after ponder- 
 ing a little while. "To be sure. That's what I came for; but 
 my head's so running on them Arks and things! He hasn't 
 been here, has he .^" 
 
 "Not he," returned the Carrier. "He's too busy, courting." 
 
 "He's coming round, though," said Caleb; "for he told me 
 to keep on the near side of the road going home, and it was ten 
 to one he'd take me up. I had better go, by-the-bye. — You 
 couldn't have the goodness to let me pinch Boxer's tail, mum, 
 for half a moment, could you.^" 
 
 "Why, Caleb, what a question!" 
 
 " Oh, never mind, mum ! " said the little man. " He mightn't 
 like it, perhaps. There's a small order just come in for bark- 
 ing dogs; and I should wish to go as close to Natur' as I could 
 for sixpence. That's all. Never mind, mum." 
 
 It happened opportunely that Boxer, without receiving the 
 proposed stimulus, began to bark with great zeal. But, as this 
 implied the approach of some new visitor, Caleb, postponing his 
 study from the life to a more convenient season, shouldered the 
 round box, and took a hurried leave. He might have spared 
 himself the trouble, for he met the visitor upon the threshold. 
 
 "Oh! You are here, are you.? Wait a bit. I'll take you 
 home. John Peerybingle, my service to you. More of my 
 service to your pretty wife. Handsomer every day! Better 
 too, if possible! And younger," mused the speaker in a low 
 voice, "that's the devil of it!" 
 
 "I should be astonished at your paying compliments, Mr. 
 Tackleton," said Dot, not with the best grace in the world, 
 "but for your condition." 
 
122 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "You know all about it, then?" 
 
 "I have got myself to believe it somehow," said Dot. 
 
 "After a hard struggle, I suppose?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 Tackleton the Toy merchant, pretty generally known as 
 Gruff and Tackleton — for that was the firm, though Gruff had 
 been bought out long ago; only leaving his name, and, as some 
 said, his nature, according to its Dictionary meaning, in the 
 business — Tackleton the Toy merchant was a man whose 
 vocation had been quite misunderstood by his Parents and 
 Guardians. If they had made him a Money Lender, or a sharp 
 Attorney, or a Sheriff's Officer, or a Broker, he might have sown 
 his discontented oats in his youth, and, after having had the 
 full run of himself in ill-natured transactions, might have turned 
 out amiable, at last, for the sake of a little freshness and novelty. 
 But, cramped and chafing in the peaceable pursuit of toymaking, 
 he was a domestic Ogre, who had been living on children all his 
 life, and was their implacable enemy. He despised all toys; 
 wouldn't have bought one for the world; delighted, in his malice, 
 to insinuate grim expressions into the faces of brown-paper 
 farmers who drove pigs to market, bellmen who advertised lost 
 lawyers' consciences, movable old ladies w^ho darned stockings 
 or carved pies; and other like samples of his stock-in-trade. 
 In appalling masks; hideous, hairy, red-eyed Jacks in Boxes; 
 Vampire Kites; demoniacal Tumblers who wouldn't lie down, 
 and were perpetually flying forward, to stare infants out of 
 countenance; his soul perfectly revelled. They were his only 
 relief, and safety-valve. He was great in such inventions. 
 Anything suggestive of a Pony nightmare was delicious to him. 
 He had even lost money (and he took to that toy very kindly) 
 by getting up Goblin slides for magic lanterns, whereon the 
 Powers of Darkness were depicted as a sort of supernatural 
 shell-fish, with human faces. In intensifying the portraiture 
 of Giants, he had sunk quite a little capital; and, though no 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 123 
 
 painter himself, he could indicate, for the instruction of his 
 artists, with a piece of chalk, a certain furtive leer for the counte- 
 nances of those monsters, which was safe to destroy the peace of 
 mind of any young gentleman between the ages of six and eleven, 
 for the whole Christmas or Midsummer Vacation. 
 
 What he was in toys, he was (as most men are) in other 
 things. You may easily suppose, therefore, that within the 
 great green cape, which reached down to the calves of his legs, 
 there was buttoned up to the chin an uncommonly pleasant 
 fellow; and that he was about as choice a spirit, and as agree- 
 able a companion, as ever stood in a pair of bull-headed-looking 
 boots with mahogany-coloured tops. 
 
 Still, Tackleton, the toy merchant, was going to be married. 
 In spite of all this, he was going to be married. And to a young 
 wife too, a beautiful young wife. 
 
 He didn't look much like a Bridegroom, as he stood in the 
 Carrier's kitchen, with a twist in his dry face, and a screw in 
 his body, and his hat jerked over the bridge of his nose, and his 
 hands tucked down into the bottoms of his pockets, and his 
 whole sarcastic, ill-conditioned self peering out of one little 
 corner of one little eye, like the concentrated essence of any 
 number of ravens. But a Bridegroom he designed to be. 
 
 "In three days' time. Next Thursday. The last day of 
 the first month in the year. That's my wedding-day," said 
 Tackleton. 
 
 Did I mention that he had always one eye wide open, and 
 one eye nearly shut; and that the one eye nearly shut was always 
 the expressive eye ? I don't think I did. 
 
 "That's my wedding-day!" said Tackleton, rattling his 
 money. 
 
 "Why, it's our wedding-day too," exclaimed the Carrier. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Tackleton. "Odd! You're just such 
 another couple. Just!" 
 
 The indignation of Dot at this presumptuous assertion is not 
 
124 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 to be described. What next? His imagination would compass 
 the possibiUty of just such another Baby, perhaps. The man 
 was mad. 
 
 "I say! A word with you," murmured Tackleton, nudging 
 the Carrier with his elbow, and taking him a little apart. 
 "You'll come to the wedding.? We're in the same boat, you 
 know." 
 
 "How in the same boat.?" inquired the Carrier. 
 
 "A little disparity, you know," said Tackleton with another 
 nudge. "Come and spend an evening with us beforehand." 
 
 "Why.?" demanded John, astonished at this pressing hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 "Why.?" returned the other. "That's a new way of receiv- 
 ing an invitation. Why, for pleasure — sociability, you know, 
 and all that." 
 
 "I thought you were never sociable," said John in his plain 
 way. 
 
 "Tchah! It's of no use to be anything but free with you, 
 I see," said Tackleton. "Why, then, the truth is, you have a 
 — what tea-drinking people call a sort of a comfortable appear- 
 ance together, you and your wife. We know better, you know, 
 but " 
 
 "No, we don't know better," interposed John. "What are 
 you talking about.?" 
 
 "Well! We don't know better, then," said Tackleton. 
 "We'll agree that we don't. As you like; what does it matter.? 
 I was going to say, as you have that sort of appearance, your 
 company will produce a favourable effect on Mrs. Tackleton 
 that will be. And, though I don't think your good lady's very 
 friendly to me in this matter, still she can't help herself from 
 falling into my views, for there's a compactness and cosiness of 
 appearance about her that always tells, even in an indifferent 
 case. You'll say you'll come.?" 
 
 "We have arranged to keep our Wedding-day (as far as 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 125 
 
 that goes) at home," said John. "We have made the promise 
 to ourselves these six months. We think, you see, that home — " 
 
 "Bah! what's home.?" cried Tackleton. "Four walls and a 
 ceiling! (Why don't you kill that Cricket.? / would! I 
 always do. I hate their noise.) There are four walls and a 
 ceihng at my house. Come to me!" 
 
 "You kill your Crickets, eh.?" said John. 
 
 "Scrunch 'em, sir," returned the other, setting his heel 
 heavily on the floor. "You'll say you'll come.? It's as much 
 your interest as mine, you know, that the women should per- 
 suade each other that they're quiet and contented, and couldn't 
 be better off. I know their way. Whatever one woman says, 
 another woman is determined to clinch always. There's that 
 spirit of emulation among 'em, sir, that if your wife says to my 
 wife, ' I'm the happiest woman in the world, and mine's the best 
 husband in the world, and I dote on him,' my wife will say the 
 same to yours, or more, and half believe it." 
 
 "Do you mean to say she don't, then.?" asked the Carrier. 
 
 " Don't ! " cried Tackleton with a short, sharp laugh. " Don't 
 what.?" 
 
 The Carrier had some faint idea of adding, "dote upon you." 
 But, happening to meet the half-closed eye, as it twinkled upon 
 him over the turned-up collar of the cape, which was within 
 an ace of poking it out, he felt it such an unlikely part and 
 parcel of anything to be doted on, that he substituted, "that she 
 don't believe it.?" 
 
 "Ah, you dog! You're joking," said Tackleton. 
 
 But the Carrier, though slow to understand the full drift 
 of his meaning, eyed him in such a serious manner, that he was 
 obliged to be a little more explanatory. 
 
 "I have the humour," said Tackleton: holding up the 
 fingers of his left hand, and tapping the forefinger, to imply, 
 "There I am, Tackleton to wit": "I have the humour, sir, to 
 marry a young wife, and a pretty wife": here he rapped his 
 
126 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 little finger, to express the Bride; not sparingly, but sharply; 
 with a sense of power. "I'm able to gratify that humour, and 
 I do. It's my whim. But — now look there!" 
 
 He pointed to where Dot was sitting, thoughtfully before 
 the fire : leaning her dimpled chin upon her hand, and watching 
 the bright blaze. The Carrier looked at her, and then at him, 
 and then at her, and then at him again. 
 
 "She honours and obeys, no doubt, you know," said Tackle- 
 ton; "and that, as I am not a man of sentiment, is quite enough 
 for me. But do you think there's anything more in it.^" 
 
 "I think," observed the Carrier, "that I should chuck any 
 man out of window who said there wasn't." 
 
 "Exactly so," returned the other with an unusual alacrity 
 of assent. "To be sure! Doubtless you would. Of course. 
 I'm certain of it. Good night. Pleasant dreams!" 
 
 The Carrier was puzzled, and made uncomfortable and un- 
 certain, in spite of himself. He couldn't help showing it in his 
 manner. 
 
 "Good night, my dear friend!" said Tackleton compas- 
 sionately. "I'm off. We're exactly alike in reality, I see. 
 You won't give us to-morrow evening.? Well! Next day you 
 go out visiting, I know. I'll meet you there, and bring my 
 wife that is to be. It'll do her good. You're agreeable.'^ 
 Thankee. What's that.?" 
 
 It was a loud cry from the Carrier's wife: a loud, sharp, 
 sudden cry, that made the room ring like a glass vessel. She 
 had risen from her seat, and stood like one transfixed by terror 
 and surprise. The Stranger had advanced towards the fire to 
 warm himself, and stood within a short stride of her chair. 
 But quite still. 
 
 "Dot!" cried the Carrier. "Mary! Darling! What's the 
 matter.?" 
 
 They were all about her in a moment. Caleb, who had been 
 dozing on the cake-box, in the first imperfect recovery of his 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 127 
 
 mspended presence of mind, seized Miss Slowboy by the hair 
 Df her head, but immediately apologised. 
 
 "Mary!" exclaimed the Carrier, supporting her in his arms. 
 "Are you ill? What is it? Tell me dear!" 
 
 She only answered by beating her hands together, and fall- 
 ing into a wild fit of laughter. Then, sinking from his grasp 
 upon the ground, she covered her face with her apron, and wept 
 bitterly. And then, she laughed again, and then she cried 
 again, and then she said how cold she was, and suffered him to 
 lead her to the fire, where she sat down as before. The old man 
 standing, as before, quite still. 
 
 "I'm better, John," she said. "I'm quite well now — 
 I " 
 
 "John!" But John was on the other side of her. Why 
 turn her face towards the strange old gentleman, as if address- 
 ing him. Was her brain wandering? 
 
 " Only a fancy, John dear — a kind of shock — a something 
 coming suddenly before my eyes — I don't know what it was. 
 It's quite gone, quite gone." 
 
 "I'm glad it's gone," muttered Tackleton, turning the ex- 
 pressive eye all round the room. "I wonder where it's gone, 
 and what it was. Humph! Caleb, come here! Who's that 
 with the grey hair?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir," returned Caleb in a whisper. "Never 
 see him before in all my life. A beautiful figure for a nut- 
 cracker; quite a new model. With a screw-jaw opening down 
 into his waistcoat, he'd be lovely." 
 
 "Not ugly enough," said Tackleton. 
 
 "Or for a fire-box either," observed Caleb in deep contem- 
 plation, "what a model! Unscrew his head to put the matches 
 in; turn him heels up'ards for the light; and what a fire-box for 
 a gentleman's mantel-shelf, just as he stands!" 
 
 "Not half ugly enough," said Tackleton. "Nothing in 
 him at all. Come! Bring that box! All right now, I hope?" 
 
128 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "Oh, quite gone! Quite gone!" said the Httle woman, 
 waving him hurriedly away. "Good night!" 
 
 "Good night!" said Tackleton. "Good night, John Peery- 
 bingle! Take care how you carry that box, Caleb. Let it fall, 
 and I'll murder you! Dark as pitch, and weather worse than 
 ever, eh. ^ Goodnight!" 
 
 So, with another sharp look round the room, he went out at 
 the door; followed by Caleb with the wedding-cake on his head. 
 
 The Carrier had been so much astounded by his little wife, 
 and so busily engaged in soothing and tending her, that he had 
 scarcely been conscious of the Stranger's presence until now, 
 when he again stood there, their only guest. 
 
 "He don't belong to them, you see," said John. "I must 
 give him a hint to go." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, friend," said the old gentleman, ad- 
 vancing to him; "the more so as I fear your wife has not been 
 well; but the Attendant whom my infirmity," he touched his 
 ears, and shook his head, "renders almost indispensable, not 
 having arrived, I fear there must be some mistake. The bad 
 night which made the shelter of your comfortable cart (may I 
 never have a worse!) so acceptable, is still as bad as ever. Would 
 you, in your kindness, suffer me to rent a bed here.?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," cried Dot. "Yes! Certainly!" 
 
 "Oh!" said the Carrier, surprised by the rapidity o" this 
 consent. "Well! I don't object; but still I'm not quite sure 
 that " 
 
 " Hush ! " she interrupted. " Dear John ! " 
 
 "Why, he's stone deaf," urged John. 
 
 " I know he is, but Yes, sir, certainly. Yes, cer- 
 tainly! I'll make him up a bed directly, John." 
 
 As she hurried oif to do it, the flutter of her spirits, and the 
 agitation of her manner, were so strange, that the Carrier stood 
 looking after her, quite confounded. 
 
 "Did its mothers make it up a Beds, then!" cried Miss 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 129 
 
 Slowboy to the Baby; "and did its hair grow brown and curly 
 when its caps was Ufted off, and frighten it, a precious Pets, a 
 sitting by the fires!" 
 
 With that unaccountable attraction of the mind to trifles, 
 which is often incidental to a state of doubt and confusion, the 
 Carrier, as he walked slowly to and fro, found himself mentally 
 repeating even these absurd words, many times. So many 
 times, that he got them by heart, and was still conning them 
 over and over, like a lesson, when Tilly, after administering as 
 much friction to the little bald head with her hand as she thought 
 wholesome (according to the practice of nurses), had once 
 more tied the Baby's cap on. 
 
 "And frighten it, a precious Pets, a sitting by the fires. 
 What frightened Dot, I wonder.^" mused the Carrier, pacing 
 
 to and fro. 
 
 He scouted, from his heart, the insinuations of the toy mer- 
 chant, and yet they filled him with a vague, indefinite uneasiness. 
 For Tackleton was quick and sly; and he had that painful 
 sense, himself, of being a man of slow perception, that a broken 
 hint was always worrying to him. He certainly had no inten- 
 tion in his mind of linking anything that Tackleton had said 
 with the unusual conduct of his wife, but the two subjects of 
 reflection came into his mind together, and he could not keep 
 them asunder. 
 
 The bed was soon made ready; and the visitor, declining 
 all refreshment but a cup of tea, retired. Then, Dot — quite 
 well again, she said, quite well again — arranged^ the great 
 chair in the chimney-corner for her husband; filled his pipe and 
 gave it him; and took her usual little stool beside him on the 
 hearth. 
 
 She always would sit on that little stool. I think she must 
 have had a kind of notion that it was a coaxing, wheedling 
 
 little stool. 
 
 She was, out and out, the very best filler of a pipe, I should 
 
130 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 say, in the four quarters of the globe. To see her put that 
 chubby Uttle finger in the bowl, and then blow down the pipe 
 to clear the tube, and, when she had done so, affect to think 
 that there was really something in the tube, and blow a dozen 
 times, and hold it to her eye like a telescope, with a most pro- 
 voking twist in her capital little face, as she looked down it, 
 was quite a brilliant thing. As to the tobacco, she was perfect 
 mistress of the subject; and her lighting of the pipe, with a wisp 
 of paper, when the Carrier had it in his mouth — going so very 
 near his nose, and yet not scorching it — was Art, high Art. 
 
 And the Cricket and the Kettle, turning up again, acknowl- 
 edged it! The bright fire, blazing up again, acknowledged it! 
 The little Mower on the clock, in his unheeded work, acknowl- 
 edged it! The Carrier, in his smoothing forehead and ex- 
 panding face, acknowledged it, the readiest of all. 
 
 And as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at his old pipe, 
 and as the Dutch clock ticked, and as the red fire gleamed, and 
 as the Cricket chirped, that Genius of his Hearth and Home 
 (for such the Cricket was) came out, in fairy shape, into the 
 room, and summoned many forms of Home about him. Dots 
 of all ages and all sizes filled the chamber. Dots who were 
 merry children, running on before him, gathering flowers in the 
 fields ; coy Dots, half shrinking from, half yielding to, the plead- 
 ing of his own rough image; newly-married Dots, alighting at 
 the door, and taking wondering possession of the household 
 keys; motherly little Dots, attended by fictitious Slowboys, 
 bearing babies to be christened; matronly Dots, still young and 
 blooming, watching Dots of daughters, as they danced at rustic 
 balls; fat Dots, encircled and beset by troops of rosy grand- 
 children; withered Dots, who leaned on sticks, and tottered as 
 they crept along. Old Carriers, too, appeared with blind old 
 Boxers lying at their feet; and newer carts with younger drivers 
 (" Peeryb ingle Brothers" on the tilt); and sick old Carriers, 
 tended by the gentlest hands; and graves of dead and gone old 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 131 
 
 Carriers, green in the churchyard. And as the Cricket showed 
 him all these things — he saw them plainly, though his eyes 
 were fixed upon the fire — the Carrier's heart grew light and 
 happy, and he thanked his Household Gods with all his might, 
 and cared no more for Gruff and Tackleton than you do. 
 
 But what was that young figure of a man, which the same 
 Fairy Cricket set so near Her stool, and which remained there, 
 singly and alone? Why did it linger still, so near her, with its 
 arm upon the chimney-piece, ever repeating "Married! and not 
 tome!" 
 
 Oh, Dot! Oh, failing Dot! There is no place for it in all 
 your husband's visions. Why has its shadow fallen on his 
 hearth ? 
 
CHIRP THE SECOND 
 
 CALEB PLUMMER and his Blind Daughter Hved all alone 
 by themselves, as the Story Books say — and my blessing, 
 with yours, to back it I hope, on the Story Books, for saying 
 anything in this work-a-day world! — Caleb Plummer and his 
 Blind Daughter lived all alone by themselves, in a little cracked 
 nutshell of a wooden house, which was, in truth, no better than 
 a pimple on the prominent red-brick nose of Gruff and Tackle- 
 ton. The premises of Gruff and Tackleton were the great 
 feature of the street; but you might have knocked down Caleb 
 Plummer's dwelling with a hammer or two, and carried off the 
 pieces in a cart. 
 
 If any one had done the dwelling-house of Caleb Plummer 
 the honour to miss it after such an inroad, it would have been, 
 no doubt, to commend its demolition as a vast improvement. 
 It stuck to the premises of Gruff and Tackleton like a barnacle 
 to a ship's keel, or a snail to a door, or a little bunch of toad- 
 stools to the stem of a tree. But it was the germ from which 
 the full-grown trunk of Gruff and Tackleton had sprung; and, 
 under its crazy roof, the Gruff before last had, in a small way, 
 made toys for a generation of old boys and girls, who had played 
 with them, and found them out, and broken them, and gone to 
 sleep. 
 
 I have said that Caleb and his poor Blind Daughter lived 
 here. I should have said that Caleb lived here, and his poor 
 Blind Daughter somewhere else — in an enchanted home of 
 Caleb's furnishing, where scarcity and shabbiness were not, 
 and trouble never entered. Caleb was no sorcerer; but in the 
 only magic art that still remains to us, the magic of devoted, 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 133 
 
 deathless love, Nature had been the mistress of his study; and, 
 from her teaching, all the wonder came. 
 
 The Blind Girl never knew that ceilings were discoloured, 
 walls blotched and bare of plaster here and there, high crevices 
 unstopped and widening every day, beams mouldering and 
 tending downward. The Blind Girl never knew that iron was 
 rusting, wood rotting, paper peeling off; the size, and shape, 
 and true proportion of the dwelling, withering away. The 
 Blind Girl never knew that ugly shapes of delf and earthenware 
 were on the board; that sorrow and faint-heartedness were in 
 the house; that Caleb's scanty hairs were turning greyer and more 
 grey before her sightless face. The Blind Girl never knew they 
 had a master, cold, exacting, and uninterested — never knew 
 that Tackleton was Tackleton, in short; but lived in the belief 
 of an eccentric humorist, who loved to have his jest with them, 
 and who, while he was the Guardian Angel of their lives, dis- 
 dained to hear one word of thankfulness. 
 
 And all was Caleb's doing; all the doing of her simple father! 
 But he, too, had a Cricket on his Hearth; and listening sadly 
 to its music when the motherless Blind Child was very young 
 that Spirit had inspired him with the thought that even her 
 great deprivation might be almost changed into a blessing, 
 and the girl made happy by these little means. For all the 
 Cricket tribe are potent Spirits, even though the people who 
 hold converse with them do not know it (which is frequently 
 the case), and there are not in the unseen world voices more 
 gentle and more true, that may be so implicitly relied on, or 
 that are so certain to give none but tenderest counsel, as the 
 Voices in which the Spirits of the Fireside and the Hearth address 
 themselves to humankind. 
 
 Caleb and his daughter were at work together in their usual 
 working-room, which served them for their ordinary living- 
 room as well; and a strange place it was. There were houses in 
 it, finished and unfinished, for Dolls of all stations in life. Sub- 
 
134 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 urban tenements for Dolls of moderate means; kitchens and 
 single apartments for Dolls of the lower classes; capital town 
 residences for Dolls of high estate. Some of tliese establish- 
 ments were already furnished according to estimate, with a 
 view to the convenience of Dolls of limited income; others 
 could be fitted on the most expensive scale, at a moment's 
 notice, from whole shelves of chairs and tables, sofas, bedsteads, 
 and upholstery. The nobility and gentry and public in general, 
 for whose acconnnodation these tenements were designed, lay 
 here and there, in baskets, staring straight up at the ceiling; 
 but in denoting their degrees in society, and confining tliem to 
 their respective stations (which experience shows to be lament- 
 ably difficult in real life), the makers of tliese Dolls had far 
 improved on Nature, who is often froward and perverse; for 
 they, not resting on such arbitrary marks as satin, cotton print, 
 and bits of rag, had superadded striking personal differences 
 which allowed of no mistake. Thus, the Doll-lady of distinction 
 had wax limbs of perfect synunetry; but only she and her com- 
 peers. The next grade in the social scale being made of leather, 
 and the next of coarse linen stuff. As to the common people, 
 tliey had just so many matches out of tinder-boxes for their 
 arms and legs, and there they were — established in their 
 sphere at once, beyond the possibility of getting out of it. 
 
 There were various other samples of his handicraft besides 
 Dolls in Caleb Plummer's room. There were Noali's arks, in 
 which the Birds and Beasts were an unconmionlv tidit fit, I 
 assure you; though they could be crammed in, anyhow, at the 
 roof, and rattled and shaken into the smallest compass. By a 
 bold poetical licence, most of these Noah's arks had knockers 
 on the doors; inconsistent appendages, perhaps, as suggestive 
 of morning callers and a Postnuni, yet a pleasant finish to the 
 outside of the building. There were scores of melancholy 
 little carts, which, when the wheels went round, performed 
 most doleful music. Many small fiddles, drums, and other 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 135 
 
 instruments of torture; no end of cannon, sliields, swords, 
 spears, and guns. There were little tumblers in red breeches, 
 incessantly swarming up high obstacles of red tape, and coming 
 down, head first, on the other side; and there were innumerable 
 old gentlemen of respectable, not to say venerable appearance, 
 insanely flying over horizontal y)egs, inserted, for the f)urp()se, in 
 their own street-doors. Tliere were beasts of all sorts; horses, 
 in particular, of every breed, from the spotted barrel on four 
 pegs with a small tipi)et for a mane, to the thorough-bred rocker 
 on his highest mettle. As it would have been hard to count the 
 dozens u[)on dozens of grotesque figures that were ever ready 
 to commit all sorts of absurdities on the turning of a handle, 
 so it would have been no easy task to mention any human folly, 
 vice, or weakness that had not its type, immediate or remote, 
 in Caleb Plummer's room. And not in an exaggerated form, 
 for very little handles will move men and women to as strange 
 performances as any Toy was ever made to undertake. 
 
 In the midst of all these objects, Caleb and his daughter sat 
 at work. The Blind Girl busy as a Doll's dressmaker; Caleb 
 painting and glazing the four-pair front of a desirable family 
 mansion. 
 
 The care imprinted in the lines of Caleb's face, and his 
 absorbed and dreamy manner, which would have sat well on 
 some alchemist or abstruse student, were at first sight an odd 
 contrast to his occupation and the trivialities about him. But 
 trivial things, invented and pursued for bread, become very 
 serious matters of fact: and, apart from this consideration, 1 
 am not at all prepared to say, myself, that if Caleb had b(^en 
 a Lord Chamberlain, or a Meml)er of Parliament, or a lawyer, 
 or even a great speculator, he would have dealt in toys one whit 
 less whimsical, while 1 have a very great doubt whether they 
 would have been as harmless. 
 
 '*So you were out in the rain last night, father, in your 
 beautiful new great-coat," said Caleb's daughter. 
 
136 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "In my beautiful new great-coat," answered Caleb, glancing 
 towards a clothes-line in the room, on which the sackcloth 
 garment previously described was carefully hung up to dry. 
 
 "How glad I am you bought it, father!'* 
 
 *'And of such a tailor too," said Caleb. "Quite a fashion- 
 able tailor. It's too good for me." 
 
 The Blind Girl rested from her work, and laughed with de- 
 light. "Too good, father! What can be too good for you?" 
 
 "I'm half ashamed to wear it, though," said Caleb, watching 
 the effect of what he said upon her brightening face, "upon my 
 word! ^Yhen I hear the boys and people say behind me, *HiU- 
 loa! Here's a swell!' I don't know which way to look. And 
 when the beggar wouldn't go away last night; and, when I said 
 I was a very common man, said, 'No, your Honour! Bless 
 your Honour, don't say that!' I was quite ashamed. I really 
 felt as if I hadn't a right to wear it." 
 
 Happy Blind Girl! How merry she was in her exultation! 
 
 " I see you, father," she said, clasping her hands, " as plainly 
 as if I had the eyes I never want when you are with me. A blue 
 coat " 
 
 "Bright blue," said Caleb. 
 
 "Yes, yes! Bright blue!" exclaimed the girl, turning up 
 her radiant face; "the colour I can just remember in the blessed 
 sky! You told me it was blue before! A bright blue coat " 
 
 "INIade loose to the figure," suggested Caleb. 
 
 "Yes! loose to the figure!" cried the Blind Girl, laughing 
 heartily; "and in it, you, dear father, with your merry eye, 
 your smiling face, your free step, and your dark hair — looking 
 so young and handsome!" 
 
 " Halloa ! Halloa ! " said Caleb. " I shall be vain presently ! '* 
 
 "/ think you are already," cried the Blind Girl, pointing at 
 him in her glee. "I know you, father! Ha, ha, ha! I've 
 found you out, you see!'* 
 
 How dift'erent the picture in her mind, from Caleb, as he sat 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 137 
 
 observing her! She had spoken of his free step. She was 
 right in that. For years and yc^irs lie had never once crossed 
 tliat threshold at his own slow j)ace, but with a footfall counter- 
 feited for her ear; and never had he, when his heart was heaviest, 
 forgotten the light tread that was to render hers so cheerful and 
 courageous ! 
 
 Heaven knows! ]5ut I think Caleb's vague bewilderment of 
 manner may have half originated in his having confused himself 
 about himself and everything around him, for the love of his 
 Blind Daughter. How could the little man be otherwise than 
 bewildered, after labouring for so many years to destroy his 
 own identity, and that of all the objects that had any bearing 
 on it? 
 
 "There we are," said Caleb, falling back a pace or two to 
 form the better judgment of his work; "as near the real thing 
 as sixpenn'orth of halfpence is to sixj)ence. What a pity that 
 the whole front of the house opens at once ! If there was only a 
 staircase in it now, and regular doors to the rooms to go in at! 
 But that's the worst of my calling, I'm always deluding myself, 
 and swindling myself." 
 
 "You are speaking quite softly. You are not tired, father ?" 
 
 "Tired!" echoed Caleb with a great burst of animation. 
 "What should tire me, Bertha.? / was never tired. What 
 does it mean?" 
 
 To give the greater force to his words, he checked himself 
 in an involuntary imitation of two half-length stretching and 
 yawning figures on the mantel-shelf, who were represented as in 
 one eternal state of weariness from the waist upwards; and 
 hummed a fragment of a song. It was a Bacchanalian song, 
 something about a Sparkling Bowl. He sang it with an assump- 
 tion of a Devil-may-care voice, that made his face a thousand 
 times more meagre and more thoughtful than ever. 
 
 "What! You're singing, are you ?" said Tackleton, putting 
 his head in at the door. "Go it! / can't sing." 
 
138 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 Nobody would have suspected him of it. He hadn't what is 
 generally termed a singing face, by any means. 
 
 "I can't afford to sing," said Tackleton. "I'm glad you 
 can. I hope you can afford to work too. Hardly time for both, 
 I should think.?" 
 
 "If you could only see him. Bertha, how he's winking at 
 me!" whispered Caleb. "Such a man to joke! You'd think, 
 if you didn't know him, he was in earnest — wouldn't you now ?^' 
 
 The Blind Girl smiled and nodded. 
 
 "The bird that can sing and won't sing must be made to 
 sing, they say," grumbled Tackleton. "What about the owl 
 that can't sing, and oughtn't to sing, and will sing; is there any- 
 thing that he should be made to do.?" 
 
 "The extent to which he's winking at this moment!" whis- 
 pered Caleb to his daughter. "Oh, my gracious!" 
 
 "Always merry and light-hearted with us!" cried tlie smil- 
 ing Bertha. 
 
 "Oh! you're there, are you?" answered Tackleton. "Poor 
 Idiot!" 
 
 He really did believe she was an Idiot; and he founded the 
 belief, I can't say whether consciously or not, upon her being 
 fond of him. 
 
 "Well! and being there, — how are you.?" said Tackleton 
 in his grudging way. 
 
 " Oh ! well ; quite well ! x\nd as happy as even you can wish 
 me to be. As happy as you would make the whole world, if 
 you could!" 
 
 "Poor Idiot!" muttered Tackleton. "No gleam of reason. 
 Not a gleam ! " 
 
 The Blind Girl took his hand and kissed it; held it for a 
 moment in her own two hands; and laid her cheek against it 
 tenderly before releasing it. There was such unspeakable 
 affection and such fervent gratitude in the act, that Tackleton 
 himself was moved to say, in a milder growl than usual: 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 139 
 
 "What's the matter now?" 
 
 "I stood it close beside my pillow when I went to sleep last 
 night, and remembered it in my dreams. And when the day 
 broke, and the glorious red sun — the red sun, father?" 
 
 "Red in the mornings and the evenings, 15ertlia," said poor 
 Caleb with a woeful glance at his eni|)loyer. 
 
 "When it rose, and the bright light I almost fear to strike 
 myself against in walking, came into the room, I turned the little 
 tree towards it, and blessed Heaven for making things so precious, 
 and blessed you for sending them to cheer me!" 
 
 "Bedlam broke loose!" said Tackleton under his breath. 
 "We shall arrive at the strait-waistcoat and mufflers soon. 
 We're getting on!" 
 
 Caleb, with his hands hooked loosely in each other, stared 
 vacantly before him while his daughter sjjoke, as if he really 
 were uncertain (I believe he was) whether Tackleton had done 
 anything to deserve her thanks or not. If he could have been 
 a perfectly free agent at that moment, required, on pain of 
 death, to kick the toy merchant, or fall at his feet, according 
 to his merits, I believe it would have been an even chance which 
 course he would have taken. Yet Caleb knew that with his 
 own hands he had brought the little rose-tree home for her so 
 carefully, and that with his own lips he had forged the innocent 
 deception which should help to ke(^}) her from suspecting how 
 much, how very much, he every day denied himself, that she 
 might be happier. 
 
 "Bertha!" said Tackleton, assuming, for the nonce, a little 
 cordiality. " Come here." 
 
 "Oh, I can come straight to you! You needn't guide me!" 
 she rejoined. 
 
 "Shall I tell you a secret. Bertha?" 
 
 "If you will!" she answered eagerly. 
 
 How bright the darkened face! How adorned with light 
 the listening head! 
 
140 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "This is the day on which little what's-her-name, the spoilt 
 child, Peerybingle's wife, pays her regular visit to you — makes 
 her fantastic Picnic here, an't it?" said Tackleton with a strong 
 expression of distaste for the whole concern. 
 
 "Yes," replied Bertha. "This is the day." 
 
 "I thought so," said Tackleton. "I should like to join the 
 party." 
 
 "Do you hear that, father.^" cried the Blind Girl in an 
 ecstasy. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I hear it," murmured Caleb with the fixed look 
 of a sleep-walker; "but I don't believe it. It's one of my lies, 
 I've no doubt." 
 
 " You see I — I want to bring the Peerybingles a little more 
 into company with May Fielding," said Tackleton. "I'm 
 going to be married to May." 
 
 "Married!" cried the Blind Girl, starting from him. 
 
 "She's such a con-founded idiot," muttered Tackleton, 
 "that I was afraid she'd never comprehend me. Ah, Bertha! 
 Married! Church, parson, clerk, beadle, glass coach, bells, 
 breakfast, bridecake, favours, marrow-bones, cleavers, and all 
 the rest of the tomfoolery. A wedding, you know; a wedding. 
 Don't you know what a wedding is.?" 
 
 "I know," replied the Blind Girl in a gentle tone. "I 
 understand!" 
 
 "Do you.?" muttered Tackleton. "It's more than I ex- 
 pected. Well! On that account I want to join the party, 
 and to bring May and her mother. I'll send in a little some- 
 thing or other, before the afternoon. A cold leg of mutton, or 
 some comfortable trifle of that sort. You'll expect me.?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered. 
 
 She had drooped her head, and turned away; and so stood, 
 with her hands crossed, musing. 
 
 "I don't think you will," muttered Tackleton, looking at her; 
 "for you seem to have forgotten all about it already. Caleb!" 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 141 
 
 "I may venture to say I'm here, I suppose," thought Caleb. 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "Take care she don't forget what I've been saying to her." 
 
 *' She never forgets," returned Caleb. "It's one of the few 
 things she an't clever in." 
 
 "Every man thinks his own geese swans," observed the toy 
 merchant with a shrug. "Poor devil!" 
 
 Having delivered himself of which remark with infinite con- 
 tempt, old Gruff and Tackleton withdrew. 
 
 Bertha remained where he had left her, lost in meditation. 
 The gaiety had vanished from her downcast face, and it was very 
 sad. Three or four times she shook her head, as if bewailing 
 some remembrance or some loss; but her sorrowful reflections 
 found no vent in words. 
 
 It was not until Caleb had been occupied some time in 
 yoking a team of horses to a waggon by the summary process 
 of nailing the harness to the vital parts of their bodies, that she 
 drew near to his working-stool, and, sitting down beside him, 
 said: 
 
 "Father, I am lonely in the dark. I want my eyes, my 
 patient, willing eyes." 
 
 "Here they are," said Caleb. "Always ready. They are 
 more yours than mine. Bertha, any hour in the four-and-twenty. 
 What shall your eyes do for you, dear.?" 
 
 "Look round the room, father." 
 
 "All right," said Caleb. "No sooner said than done. 
 Bertha." 
 
 "Tell me about it." 
 
 "It's much the same as usual," said Caleb. "Homely, but 
 very snug. The gay colours on the walls; the bright flowers 
 on the plates and dishes; the shining wood, where there are 
 beams or panels; the general cheerfulness and neatness of the 
 building, — make it very pretty." 
 
 Cheerful and neat it was, wherever Bertha's hands could 
 
142 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 busy themselves. But nowhere else were cheerfulness and 
 neatness possible in the old crazy shed which Caleb*s fancy so 
 transformed. 
 
 "You have your working dress on, and are not so gallant as 
 when you wear the handsome coat?" said Bertha, touching 
 him. 
 
 "Not quite so gallant," answered Caleb. "Pretty brisk, 
 thoucjh." ^ 
 
 "Father," said the Blind Girl, drawing close to his side, 
 and stealing one arm round his neck, "tell me something about 
 May. She is very fair ? " 
 
 "She is indeed," said Caleb. And she was indeed. It was 
 quite a rare thing to Caleb not to have to draw on his invention. 
 
 "Her hair is dark," said Bertha pensively, "darker than 
 mine. Her voice is sweet and musical, I know. I have often 
 loved to hear it. Her shape " 
 
 "There's not a Doll's in all the room to equal it," said 
 Caleb. " And her eyes ! " 
 
 He stopped; for Bertha had drawn closer round his neck, 
 and, from the arm that clung about him, came a warning pres- 
 sure which he understood too well. 
 
 He coughed a moment, hammered for a moment, and then 
 fell back upon the song about the sparkling bowl, his infallible 
 resource in all such difficulties. 
 
 "Our friend, father, our benefactor. I am never tired, you 
 know, of hearing about him. — Now, was I ever.^" she said 
 hastily. 
 
 "Of course not," answered Caleb, "and with reason." 
 
 "Ah! With how much reason!" cried the Blind Girl. 
 With such fervency, that Caleb, though his motives were so 
 pure, could not endure to meet her face; but dropped his eyes, 
 as if she could have read in them his innocent deceit. 
 
 "Then tell me again about him, dear father," said Bertha. 
 "Many times again! His face is benevolent, kind, and tender. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 143 
 
 Honest and true, I am sure it Is. The manly heart that tries to 
 cloak all favours with a show of roughness and unwillingness, 
 beats in its every look and glance." 
 
 "And makes it noble," added Caleb in his quiet desperation. 
 
 "And makes it noble," cried the Blind Girl. "He is older 
 than May, father." 
 
 "Ye-es," said Caleb reluctantly. "He's a little older than 
 May. But that don't signify." 
 
 "Oh, father, yes! To be his patient companion in infirmity 
 and age; to be his gentle nurse in sickness, and his constant 
 friend in suffering and sorrow; to know no weariness in working 
 for his sake; to watch him, tend him, sit beside his bed and talk 
 to him awake, and pray for him asleep; what privileges these 
 would be! What opportunities for proving all her truth and 
 her devotion to him! Would she do all this, dear father?" 
 
 "No doubt of it," said Caleb. 
 
 "I love her, father; I can love her from my soul!" exclaimed 
 the Blind Girl. And, saying so, she laid her poor blind face on 
 Caleb's shoulder, and so wept and wept, that he was almost 
 sorry to have brought that tearful happiness upon her. 
 
 In the meantime there had been a pretty sharp commotion 
 at John Peerybingle's, for little Mrs. Peerybingle naturally 
 couldn't think of going anywhere without the Baby; and to get 
 the Baby under way took time. Not that there was much of 
 the Baby, speaking of it as a thing of weight and measure, but 
 there was a vast deal to do about and about it, and it all had to 
 be done by easy stages. For instance, when the Baby was got, 
 by hook and by crook, to a certain point of dressing, and you 
 might have rationally supposed that another touch or two 
 would finish him off, and turn him out a tiptop Baby challenging 
 the world, he was unexpectedly extinguished in a flannel cap, 
 and hustled off to bed; where he simmered (so to speak) between 
 two blankets for the best part of an hour. From this state of 
 inaction he was then recalled, shining very much and roaring 
 
144 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 violently, to partake of — well ? I would rather say, if you'll 
 permit me to speak generally — of a slight repast. After which 
 he went to sleep again. Mrs. Peeryb ingle took advantage of 
 this interval, to make herself as smart in a small way as ever 
 you saw anybody in all your life; and, during the same short 
 truce, Miss Slowboy insinuated herself into a spencer of a fashion 
 so surprising and ingenious, that it had no connection with 
 herself, or anything else in the universe, but was a shrunken, 
 dog's-eared, independent fact, pursuing its lonely course with- 
 out the least regard to anybody. By this time, the Baby, being 
 all alive again, was invested, by the united efforts of Mrs. Peery- 
 bingle and Miss Slowboy, with a cream-coloured mantle for its 
 body, and a sort of nankeen raised pie for its head; and so, in 
 course of time, they all three got down to the door, where the 
 old horse had already taken more than the full value of his 
 day's toll out of the Turnpike Trust, by tearing up the road 
 with his impatient autographs; and whence Boxer might be 
 dimly seen in the remote perspective, standing looking back, 
 and tempting him to come on without orders. 
 
 As to a chair, or anything of that kind for helping Mrs. 
 Peerybingle into the cart, you know very little of John, if you 
 think that was necessary. Before you could have seen him lift 
 her from the ground, there she was in her place, fresh and rosy, 
 saying, "John! How can jou? Think of Tilly!" 
 
 If I might be allowed to mention a young lady's legs on any 
 terms, I would observe of Miss Slowboy's that there was a fatality 
 about them which rendered them singularly liable to be grazed; 
 and that she never effected the smallest ascent or descent with- 
 out recording the circumstance upon them with a notch, as 
 Robinson Crusoe marked the days upon his wooden calendar. 
 But, as this might be considered ungenteel, I'll think of it. 
 
 "John! You've got the basket with the Veal and Ham Pie 
 and things, and the bottles of Beer ? " said Dot. " If you haven't 
 you must turn round again this very minute." 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 145 
 
 "You're a nice little article," returned the Carrier, "to be 
 talking about turning round, after keeping me a full quarter 
 of an hour behind my time." 
 
 "I am sorry for it, John," said Dot in a great bustle, "but 
 I really could not think of going to Bertha's — I would not do 
 it, John, on any account — without the Veal and Ham Pie and 
 things, and the bottles of Beer. Way!" 
 
 This monosyllable was addressed to the horse, who didn't 
 mind it at all. 
 
 "Oh, do way, John!" said Mrs. Peerybingle. "Please!" 
 
 "It'll be time enough to do that," returned John, "when I 
 begin to leave things behind me. The basket's safe enough." 
 
 "What a hard-hearted monster you must be, John, not to 
 have said so at once, and save me such a turn! I declare I 
 wouldn't go to Bertha's without the Veal and Ham Pie and 
 things, and the bottles of Beer, for any money. Regularly 
 once a fortnight ever since we have been married, John, have 
 we made our little Picnic there. If anything was to go wrong 
 with it, I should almost think we were never to be lucky 
 again." 
 
 "It was a kind thought in the first instance," said the Carrier; 
 "and I honour you for it, little woman." 
 
 "My dear John!" replied Dot, turning very red. "Don't 
 talk about honouring me. Good gracious!" 
 
 "By-the-bye" — observed the Carrier — "that old gentle- 
 man " 
 
 Again so visibly and instantly embarrassed! 
 
 "He's an odd fish," said the Carrier, looking straight along 
 the road before them. "I can't make him out. I don't be- 
 lieve there's any harm in him." 
 
 "None at all. I'm — I'm sure there's none at all." 
 
 "Yes," said the Carrier, with his eyes attracted to her face 
 by the great earnestness of her manner. "I am glad you feel 
 so certain of it, because it's a confirmation to me. It's curious 
 
146 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 that he should have taken it into his head to ask leave to go on 
 lodging with us; an't it? Things come about so strangely." 
 
 "So very strangely," she rejoined in a low voice, scarcely 
 audible. 
 
 "However, he's a good-natured old gentleman," said John, 
 "and pays as a gentleman, and I think his word is to be relied 
 upon, like a gentleman's. I had quite a long talk with him this 
 morning: he can hear me better already, he says, as he gets 
 more used to my voice. He told me a great deal about him- 
 self, and I told him a good deal about myself, and a rare lot of 
 questions he asked me. I gave him information about my 
 having two beats, you know, in my business; one day to the right 
 from our house and back again; another day to the left from 
 our house and back again (for he's a stranger, and don't know 
 the names of places about here) ; and he seemed quite pleased. 
 *Why, then I shall be returning home to-night your way,' he 
 says, 'when I thought you'd be coming in an exactly opposite 
 direction. That's capital! I may trouble you for another 
 lift, perhaps, but I'll engage not to fall so sound asleep again.' 
 He was sound asleep, sure-ly! — Dot! what are you thinking of .^" 
 
 "Thinking of, John.? I — I was listening to you." 
 
 "Oh! That's all right!" said the honest Carrier. "I was 
 afraid, from the look of your face, that I had gone rambling on 
 so long as to set you thinking about something else. I was very 
 near it, I'll be bound." 
 
 Dot making no reply, they jogged on, for some little time, 
 in silence. But, it was not easy to remain silent very long in 
 John Peerybingle's cart, for everybody on the road had some- 
 thing to say. Though it might only be "How are you.^" and, 
 indeed, it was very often nothing else, still, to give that back 
 again in the right spirit of cordiality, required, not merely a nod 
 and a smile, but as wholesome an action of the lungs withal as a 
 long-winded Parliamentary speech. Sometimes, passengers on 
 foot, or horseback, plodded on a little way beside the cart, for 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 147 
 
 the express purpose of having a chat; and then there was a great 
 deal to be said on both sides. 
 
 Then, Boxer gave occasion to more good-natured recogni- 
 tions of, and by, the Carrier, than half-a-dozen Christians could 
 have done ! Everybody knew him all along the road — espe- 
 cially the fowls and pigs, who, when they saw him approaching, 
 with his body all on one side, and his ears pricked up inquisitively, 
 and that knob of a tail making the most of itself in the air, 
 immediately withdrew into remote back-settlements, without 
 waiting for the honour of a nearer acquaintance. He had busi- 
 ness elsewhere; going down all the turnings, looking into all the 
 wells, bolting in and out of all the cottages, dashing into the 
 midst of all the Dame Schools, fluttering all the pigeons, mag- 
 nifying the tails of all the cats, and trotting into the public- 
 houses like a regular customer. Wherever he went, somebody 
 or other might have been heard to cry, "Halloa! here's Boxer!" 
 and out came that somebody forthwith, accompanied by at least 
 two or three other somebodies, to give John Peerybingle and his 
 pretty wife Good day. 
 
 The packages and parcels for the errand cart were numerous ; 
 and there were many stoppages to take them in and give them 
 out, which were not by any means the worst parts of the journey. 
 Some people were so full of expectation about their parcels, and 
 other people were so full of wonder about their parcels, and 
 other people were so full of inexhaustible directions about their 
 parcels, and John had such a lively interest in all the parcels, 
 that it was as good as a play. Likewise, there were articles to 
 carry, which required to be considered and discussed, and in 
 reference to the adjustment and disposition of which councils 
 had to be holden by the Carrier and the senders : at which Boxer 
 usually assisted, in short fits of the closest attention, and long 
 fits of tearing round and round the assembled sages, and bark- 
 ing himself hoarse. Of all these little incidents. Dot was the 
 amused and open-eyed spectatress from her chair in the cart; 
 
148 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 and as she sat there, looking on — a charming Httle portrait 
 framed to admiration by the tilt — there was no lack of nudg- 
 ings and glancings and whisperings and envyings among the 
 younger men. And this delighted John the Carrier beyond 
 measure; for he was proud to have his little wife admired, know- 
 ing that she didn't mind it — that, if anything, she rather liked 
 it perhaps. 
 
 The trip was a little foggy, to be sure, in the January weather; 
 and was raw and cold. But who cared for such trifles? Not 
 Dot, decidedly. Not Tilly Slowboy, for she deemed sitting in a 
 cart, on any terms, to be the highest point of human joys; the 
 crowning circumstance of earthly hope. Not the Baby, I'll 
 be sworn; for it's not in Baby nature to be warmer or more sound 
 asleep, though its capacity is great in both respects, than that 
 blessed young Peerybingle was, all the way. 
 
 You couldn't see very far in the fog, of course; but you could 
 see a great deal! It's astonishing how much you may see in a 
 thicker fog than that, if you will only take the trouble to look 
 for it. Why, even to sit watching for the Fairyrings in the 
 fields, and for the patches of hoar frost still lingering in the shade, 
 near hedges and by trees, was a pleasant occupation, to make no 
 mention of the unexpected shapes in which the trees themselves 
 came starting out of the mist, and glided into it again. The 
 hedges were tangled and bare, and waved a multitude of blighted 
 garlands in the wind; but there was no discouragement in this. 
 It was agreeable to contem})late; for it made the fireside warmer 
 in possession, and the summer greener in expectancy. The 
 river looked chilly; but it was in motion, and moving at a good 
 pace — which was a great point. The canal was rather slow 
 and torpid; that must be admitted. Never mind. It would 
 freeze the sooner when the frost set fairly in, and then there 
 would be skating and sliding; and the heavy old barges, frozen 
 up somewhere near a wharf, would smoke their rusty iron 
 chimney-pipes all day, and have a lazy time of it. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 149 
 
 In one place there was a great mound of weeds or stul)l)le 
 burning; and they watched the fire, so white in the daytime, flar- 
 ing through the fog, with only here and there a dash of red in 
 it, until, in consequence, as she observed, of i\w, smoke "gelling 
 up her nose," Miss Slowboy choked — she could do anything 
 of that sort, on the smallest provocation — and woke the Jiaby, 
 who wouldn't go to sleep again. But Boxer, who was in ad- 
 vance some (juarter of a mile or so, had already passed the out- 
 posts of the town, and gained the corner of the stre(;t where 
 Caleb and his daughter lived; and, long before they had reached 
 the door, he and the Blind Girl were on the pavement waiting 
 to receive them. 
 
 Boxer, by the way, made certain delicate distinctions of 
 his own, in his communication with Bertha, which persuade me 
 fully that he knew her to be blind. lie never sought to attract 
 her attention by looking at her, as he often did with other jx^ople, 
 but touched her invariably. What ex[)eri(mce he could (^ver 
 have had of blind people or blind dogs I don't know. lie had 
 never lived with a blind master; nor had Mr. I$oxer the elder, 
 nor Mrs. Boxer, nor any of his respectable family on either side, 
 ever ])vxin visited with blindness, that I am awan^ of. lie; rriay 
 have found it out for himself, j)erliaps, but he had got hold of it 
 somehow; and therefore he had hold of Berlha too, by the skirt, 
 and kept hold, until Mrs. Peerybingle and the ]5aby, and Miss 
 Slowboy and the basket, were all got saf(;ly within doors. 
 
 May Fielding was already come; and so was her mother — 
 a little querulous chi[> of an old lady with a peevish face, who, 
 in right of having preserved a waist like a bedpost, was supposed 
 to be a most transcendent figure; and who, in consequence of 
 having once been Ix^tter off, or of labouring under an impression 
 that she might have been, if something had ha[>pened which 
 never did hajipen, and seemed to have never been particularly 
 likely to come to pass — but it's all the same — was very genteel 
 and patronising indeed. Gruff and Tackleton was also there, 
 
150 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 doing the agreeable, with the evident sensation of being as per- 
 fectly at home, and as unquestionably in his own element, as a 
 fresh young salmon on the top of the Great Pyramid. 
 
 "May! My dear old friend!" cried Dot, running up to 
 meet her. "AYliat a happiness to see you!" 
 
 Her old friend was, to the full, as hearty and as glad as she; 
 and it really was, if you'll believe me, quite a pleasant sight to 
 see them embrace. Tackleton was a man of taste, beyond all 
 question. May was very pretty. 
 
 You know sometimes, when you are used to a pretty face, 
 how, when it comes into contact and comparison with another 
 pretty face, it seems for the moment to be homely and faded, 
 and hardly to deserve the high opinion you have had of it. Now, 
 this was not at all the case, either with Dot or May; for ]May's 
 face set off Dot's, and Dot's face set off May's, so naturally and 
 agreeably, that, as John Peerybingle was very near saying when 
 he came into the room, they ought to have been born sisters — 
 which was the only improvement you could have suggested. 
 
 Tackleton had brought his leg of mutton, and, wonderful to 
 relate, a tart besides — but we don't mind a little dissipation 
 when our brides are in the case; we don't get married every day 
 — and, in addition to these dainties, there were the Veal and 
 Ham Pie, and "things," as Mrs. Peerybingle called them; which 
 were chiefly nuts and oranges, and cakes, and such small deer. 
 ^Yhen the repast was set forth on the board, flanked by Caleb's 
 contribution, which was a great wooden bowl of smoking pota- 
 toes (he was prohibited, by solemn compact, from producing any 
 other viands), Tackleton led his intended mother-in-law to the 
 post of honour. For the better gracing of this place at the high 
 festival, the majestic old soul had adorned herself with a cap, 
 calculated to inspire the thoughtless with sentiments of awe. 
 She also wore her gloves. But let us be genteel, or die! 
 
 Caleb sat next his daughter; Dot and her old schoolfellow 
 were side by side; the good Carrier took care of the bottom of the 
 
The CmcKET on the Hearth 151 
 
 table. Miss Slowboy was isolated, for the time being, from 
 every article of furniture but the chair she sat on, that she might 
 have nothing else to knock the Baby's head against. 
 
 As Tilly stared about her at the dolls and toys, they stared 
 at her and at the company. The venerable old gentleman at 
 the street-doors [(who were all in full action) showed especial 
 interest in the party, pausing occasionally before leaping, as if 
 they were listening to the conversation, and then plunging wildly 
 over and over, a great many times, without halting for breath — 
 as in a frantic state of delight with the whole proceedings. 
 
 Certainly, if these old gentlemen were inclined to have a 
 fiendish joy in the contemplation of Tackleton's discomfiture, 
 they had good reason to be satisfied. Tackleton couldn't get 
 on at all; and the more cheerful his intended bride became in 
 Dot's society, the less he liked it, though he had brought them 
 together for that purpose. For he was a regular dog in the 
 manger, was Tackleton; and, when they laughed and he couldn't, 
 he took it into his head, immediately, that they must be laughing 
 at him. 
 
 "Ah, May!" said Dot. "Dear, dear, what changes! To 
 talk of those merry school days makes one young again." 
 
 "Why, you an't particularly old at any time, are you?" said 
 Tackleton. 
 
 "Look at my sober, plodding husband there," returned 
 Dot. "He adds twenty years to my age at least. Don't you, 
 John.P" 
 
 "Forty," John replied. 
 
 "How many you'W add to Mary's, I am sure I don't know," 
 said Dot, laughing. "But she can't be much less than a hun- 
 dred years of age on her next birthday." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed Tackleton. Hollow as a drum that 
 laugh, though. And he looked as if he could have twisted 
 Dot's neck comfortably. 
 
 "Dear, dear!" said Dot. "Only to remember how we used 
 
152 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 to talk, at school, about the husbands wo wouki choose. I don't 
 know how young, and how handsome, and how gay, and how 
 Hvely mine was not to be! And as to May's! — Ah dear! 1 
 don't know whether to huigh or cry, when 1 think what silly 
 girls we were." 
 
 ^lay seemed to know which to do: for the colour flashed into 
 her face, and tears stood in her eyes. 
 
 "Even the very persons themselves — real live young men 
 — we tixed on sometimes," said Dot. "We little thought how 
 things would come about. 1 never fixed on John. I'm sure; I 
 never so much as thought of hin\. And, if 1 had told you you 
 were ever to be married to Mr. Tackleton. why, you'd have 
 slapped me. Wouldn't you. May.-" 
 
 rhouii'h Mav didn't sav ves, she certainlv didn't sav no, or 
 express no, by any means. 
 
 Tackleton laughed — quite shouted, he laughed so loud, 
 .h^hn reerybingle laughed too, in his orditiary good-natured and 
 contented manner; but his was a mere whisper of a laugh to 
 Tackleton's. 
 
 "You couldn't help youi*selves, for all that. You couldn't 
 ivsist us, you see," said Tackleton. "Here we are! Here we 
 aiv! AVhciv are your gay young bridegrooms now?" 
 
 "Some of them arc dead," said Dot: "and some of them 
 forgi>tten. Some of them, if they could stand among us at this 
 moment, would not believe we were the same creatures; would 
 not believe that what they saw and heard was real, and we (•(>///(/ 
 forgt^t them so. No! they would not believe one word of it!" 
 
 "AVhy. Dot!" cxclainuHl the Carrier. "Little woman!" 
 
 She had spoken with such earnestness and tire, that she 
 stood in need of some recalling to hei^elf. without doubt. Iler 
 husband's check was very gentle, for he merely interfered, as he 
 supjHistHl, to shield old Tackleton; but it pnn'od etfei^tual, for 
 she stopjHxl, and said no mort\ There was an uncommon 
 agitation, even in her silence, which the wary Tackleton, who 
 
The Crick k'i' on t \i k Hearth 153 
 
 had bronpjbt his half-shut eye to bear upon her, noted closely, 
 and reineinbered to soine purpose too. 
 
 May uttered no word, good or bad, but sat quite still, with 
 her eyes cast down, and made no sign of interest in what had 
 passed. The good lady her mother now interf)osed, observing, 
 in the first instance, that girls W(;re girls, and bygones bygones, 
 and that, so long as young f)eople were young and thoughtless, 
 they would proba})ly conduct themselves like young and thought- 
 less f)ersons: with two or Ihrec^ other positions of Ji, no less sound 
 and incontrovertible ('Iijiraftter. She then remarked, in a de- 
 vout spirit, that sh(^ thanked Heaven she had always foiind in 
 her daughter May a dutiful and obedient child: for which she 
 took no credit to herself, though slie had every reason to believe 
 it was entirely owing to hers(^lf. With regard to Mr. Ta(;kl(>ton, 
 she said. That he was in a moral point of vic^w an undenial)le 
 individual, and That he was in an eligible point of view a son- 
 in-law to be desired, no one in their s(5nses could doubt. (She 
 was very emphatic here.) With regard to the family into which 
 he was so soon al)out, after some solicitation, to b(^ admitted, 
 she believed Mr. Tackleton knew that, although redm^ed in 
 purse, it had some pretensions to gentility; and that if certain cir- 
 cumstan(;es, not wholly unconnected, sIk^ would go so far as to 
 say, with the Indigo Trade, but to which she would not more 
 particularly refer, had hap})en(;d din'crcntly, it might perhaps 
 have been in possession of wealth. She then remarked that she 
 would not allude to the })ast, and would not mention that her 
 daughter had for some time rejected the suit of Mr. 'VuvkUiion; 
 and that she would not say a great many other things which 
 she did say at great lengtli. Finally, she d(;livered it as the 
 general result of her observation and (^xix^icmce, that those 
 marriages in which there was least of what was romantically 
 and sillily called love, were always the ha})i)i(;st; and that she 
 anticipated the greatest possible amount of bliss — not rapturous 
 bliss; but the solid, steady-going article — from the af)i)roach- 
 
154 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 ing nuptials. She concluded by informing the company that 
 to-morrow was the day she had lived for expressly; and that, 
 when it was over, she would desire nothing better than to be 
 packed up and disposed of in any genteel place of burial. 
 
 As these remarks were quite unanswerable — which is the 
 happy property of all remarks that are sufficiently wide of the 
 purpose — they changed the current of the conversation, and 
 diverted the general attention to the Veal and Ham Pie, the 
 cold mutton, the potatoes, and the tart. In order that the 
 bottled beer might not be slighted, John Peerybingle proposed 
 To-morrow: the AVedding-day ; and called upon them to drink 
 a bumper to it, before he proceeded on his journey. 
 
 For you ought to know. that he only rested there, and gave 
 the old horse a bait. He had to go some four or live miles 
 farther on; and, when he returned in the evening, he called for 
 Dot, and took another rest on his way home. This was the 
 order of the day on all the Picnic occasions, and had been ever 
 since their institution. 
 
 There were two persons present, besides the bride and bride- 
 groom elect, who did but indifferent honour to the toast. One 
 of these was Dot, too flushed and discomposed to adapt herself 
 to any small occurrence of the moment; the other, Bertha, who 
 rose up hurriedly before the rest, and left the table. 
 
 "Good-bye!" said stout John Peerybingle, pulling on his 
 dreadnought coat. "I shall be back at the old time. Good- 
 bye all!" 
 
 "Good-bye, John," returned Caleb. 
 
 He seemed to say it by rote, and to wave his hand in the 
 same unconscious manner; for he stood observing Bertha with 
 an anxious wondering face, that never altered its expression. 
 
 "Good-bye, young shaver!" said the jolly Carrier, bending 
 down to kiss the child; which Tilly Slowboy, now intent upon 
 her knife and fork, had deposited asleep (and, strange to say, 
 without damage) in a little cot of Bertha's furnishing; "good- 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 155 
 
 bye! Time will come, I suppose, when you'll turn out into the 
 cold, my little friend, and leave your old father to enjoy his pipe 
 and his rheumatics in the chimney-corner; eh ? Where's Dot ?" 
 
 "I'm here, John!" she said, starting. 
 
 "Come, come!" returned the Carrier, clapping his sounding 
 hands. "Where's the pipe?" 
 
 "I quite forgot the pipe, John." 
 
 Forgot the pipe! Was such a wonder ever heard oi? She! 
 Forgot the pipe ! 
 
 "I'll — I'll fill it directly. It's soon done." 
 
 But it was not so soon done, either. It lay in the usual 
 place — the Carrier's dreadnought pocket — with the little 
 pouch, her own work, from which she was used to fill it; but 
 her hand shook so, that she entangled it (and yet her hand was 
 small enough to have come out easily, I am sure), and bungled 
 terribly. The filling of the pipe and lighting it, those little 
 oflSces in which I have commended her discretion, were vilely 
 done from first to last. During the whole process, Tackleton 
 stood looking on maliciously with the half-closed eye; which, 
 whenever it met hers — or caught it, for it can hardly be said to 
 have ever met another eye : rather being a kind of trap to snatch 
 it up — augmented her confusion in a most remarkable degree. 
 
 "Why, what a clumsy Dot you are this afternoon!" said 
 John. "I could have done it better myself, I verily believe!" 
 
 With these good-natured words, he strode away, and pres- 
 ently was heard, in company with Boxer, and the old horse, 
 and the cart, making lively music down the road. What time 
 the dreamy Caleb still stood, watching his blind daughter, with 
 the same expression on his face. 
 
 "Bertha!" said Caleb, softly. "What has happened.? How 
 changed you are, my darling, in a few hours — since this morn- 
 ing! Fow silent and dull all day! What is it.? Tell me!" 
 
 "Oh, father, father!" cried the Blind Girl, bursting into 
 tears. "Oh, my hard, hard fate!" 
 
156 The Cricket ox the Hearth 
 
 Caleb drew his hand acrcvss his eves before he nswered 
 her. 
 
 "But think how cheerful and how happy you have been. 
 Bertha! How good, and how much loved, by many peonle." 
 
 "That strikes me to the heart, dear father! Al\^ .lys so 
 mindful of me! Always so kind to me!" 
 
 Caleb was very much perplexed to understand her. 
 
 ** To be — to be blind. Bertha, my poor dear," he faltered, 
 "is a great affliction: but '* 
 
 '*I have never felt it!" cried the Blind Girl. "I have ' ver 
 felt it in its fulnesis. Never! I have sometimes wished that I 
 could see you, or could see liim — only once, dear father, c nly 
 for one little minute — that I might know what it is I treasnre 
 up," she laid her hands upon her breast, ** and hold hen?! That 
 I might be sure I have it rig '^t! And sometimes (but then I was 
 a child"^ I have wept in my prayers at night, to think that, when 
 your images aseendeii frx^m my heart to Heaven, tliey might net 
 be the true ivsemblance of yourselves. But I have never hafl 
 these feeling's long. They have piissed awav, and left me tran 
 quil and contented." 
 
 **And they will again," said Caleb. 
 
 "But, father! Oh. my good gentle father, bear with me. if 
 I am wickevi!" said the Blind Girl. "This is not the sorrow 
 that so weighs me down!" 
 
 Her father could not choose but let his moist eyes overflow; 
 she was so earnest and pathetic. But he did not understand 
 her yet, 
 
 "Bring her to me," said Bertha, **I cannot hold it closed 
 and shut within myself. Bring her to me, father!" 
 
 She knew he hesitated, and said, "May. Bring May!" 
 
 May heard the mention of her name, and. coming quietly 
 towards her, touched her on the arm. The BUnd Girl turned 
 immediatelv, and held her bv both hands. 
 
 • * 
 
 "Look into mv face. Dear heart. Sweet heart!" said Bertha. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 157 
 
 "Read it mih your beautiful eyes, and tell mc if the truth is 
 wrilleii on it." 
 
 "Dear Bertha, yes!" 
 
 The Blind Girl, still upturning the blank sightless face, 
 down A .lich the tears were coursing fast, addressed her in these 
 words : 
 
 "There is not, in my soul, a wish or thought that is not for 
 your good, })right May! There is not, in my soul, a grateful 
 recollection stronger than the deej) rememl)ra,nce which is stonul 
 therr of the many many times when, in the full [)ri(le of siglit 
 and beauty, you have had consideration for Hliiid IJertlia, even 
 whe;i we two were children, or when 15ertha was as much a child 
 as ever })lin(lness can be! Every blessing on your head! Light 
 upon your ha|)py course! Not the less, my dear May," — and 
 she drew towards her in a closer gra p, — " not the less, my bird, 
 because, to-day, the knowledge that you are to be His wife has 
 wning my heart almost to breaking! Father, May, Mary! 
 Oh, forgive me that it is so, for the sake of all he has done to 
 jlieve the weariness of my dark lile: and for the sake of the be- 
 lief you have in me, when 1 call Heaven to witness that I could 
 not wish him married to a wife more worthy of his goodness!" 
 
 While speaking, she had released May Fielding's hands, 
 
 md clas[)ed her garments in an attitude of mingled suf)plication 
 
 and love. Sinking lower and lower down, as she proceeded in 
 
 her strange confession, she dropped at last at the feet of her 
 
 friend, and hid her blind face in the folds of her dress. 
 
 "Great Power!" exclaimed her father, smitten at one blow 
 with the trutli, "have 1 deceived her from her cradle, but to 
 break her heart at last?" 
 
 It was well for all of them that Dot, that beaming, useful, 
 busy little Dot — for such she was, whatever faults she had, 
 and however you may learn to hate her, in good time — it was 
 well for all of them, I say, that she was there, or where this 
 would have ended, it were hard to tell. But Dot, recovering 
 
158 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 her self-possession, interposeil, before May eoiiKl reply, or Caleb 
 say another ^^ord. 
 
 "Come, oonie, dear Bertha! eonie away with me! Give 
 her your arm, ^lay! So. How composed she is. you see, 
 already; and how good it is of her to mind us," said the cheery 
 little woman, kissing her upon the forehead. "Come away, 
 dear Bertha! Come! and here's her good father will come with 
 her, won't you. Caleb ? To — be — sure!" 
 
 AVell, well! she was a noble little Dot in such things, and it 
 nuist have been an obdurate natuiv that could have withstood 
 her intluenee. When she had got poor Caleb and his Bertha 
 away, that they might comfort and console each other, as she 
 knew they only could, she presently came bouncing back, — 
 the saying is, as fresh as any daisy: / say fresher — to mount 
 guard over that bridling little piece of consequence in the cap 
 and gloves, and prevent the dear old creature from making dis- 
 coveries. 
 
 "So briuii n\e the precious Babv. Tillv." said she. drawinix 
 a chair to the tiiv: "and while I have it in my lap, here's Mrs. 
 Fielding, Tilly, will tell n\e all about the management of Babies, 
 and put n\e right in twenty points where I'm as wrong as can 
 be. Won't yon, ^Irs. Fielding:" 
 
 Not even the Welsh Ciant, who. according to the popular 
 expression, was so "slow" as to perform a fatal surgical opera- 
 tion u}x^n himself, in emulation of a juggling trick achieved by 
 liis arch enemy at breakfast-time: not even he fell half so ivadily 
 into the snare prepared for him as the old lady into this artful 
 pitfall. The fact of Taekleton having walked out: and fnrther- 
 moiw of two or three jHX>ple having been talking together at a 
 distance, for two minutes, leaving her to her own resources; 
 was quite enough to have put her on her dignity, and the bewail- 
 ment of that m^^sterious con^ndsion in the Indigo Trade, for 
 four-and-twenty houi*s. But this becoming deference to her 
 experience, on the part of the young mother, was so irresistible. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 1^9 
 
 that after a short affectation of Immility, she began to enlighten 
 her with the best grace in the world; and, sitting bolt upright 
 before the wicked Dot, she did, in half an hour, deliver more 
 infallible domestic recipes and ])recepts than would (if iuUnl 
 on) have utterly destroyed and done up that Young Peery- 
 bingle, though he had been an Infant Samson. 
 
 To change the theme. Dot did a little needlework — she 
 carried the contents of a whole workbox in her }K)cket; however 
 she contrived it, / don't know — then did a little nursing; then 
 a little more needlework; then had a little whispering chat with 
 May, while the old lady dozed; and so in little bits of bustle, 
 which was quite her manner always, found it a very short after- 
 noon. Then, as it grew dark, and as it was a solemn part of 
 this Institution of the Picnic that she should pei-form all Bertha's 
 household tasks, she trimmed the fire, and swept the hearth, and 
 set the tea-board out, and drew the curtain, and lighted a candle. 
 Then she played an air or two on a rude kind of harp, which 
 Caleb had contrived for Bertha, and played them very well; 
 for Nature had made her delicate little ear as choice a one for 
 music as it would have been for jewels, if she had had any to 
 wear. By this time it was the established hour for having tea; 
 and Tackleton came back again to share the meal, and spend 
 the evening. 
 
 Caleb and Bertha had returned some time before, and Caleb 
 had sat down to his afternoon's work. l$ut he couldn't settle 
 to it, poor fellow, being anxious and remorseful for his daughter. 
 It was touching to see him sitting idle on his working stool, re- 
 garding her so wistfully, and always saying in his face, "Have I 
 deceived her from her cradle, but to break her heart?'* 
 
 When it was night, and tea was done, and Dot had nothing 
 more to do in washing up the cups and saucers ; in a word — 
 for I must come to it, and there is no use in putting it off — 
 when the time drew nigh for expecting the Carrier's return in 
 every sound of distant wheels, her manner changed again, her 
 
i6o The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 colour came and went, and she was very restless. Not as good 
 wives are when listening for their husbands. No, no, no. It 
 was another sort of restlessness from that. 
 
 Wheels heard. A horse's feet. The barking of a dog. 
 The gradual approach of all the sounds. The scratching paw 
 of Boxer at the door! 
 
 "Whose step is that.?" cried Bertha, starting up. 
 
 "Whose step.?" returned the Carrier, standing in the portal, 
 with his brown face ruddy as a winter berry from the keen night 
 air. "Why, mine." 
 
 "The other step," said Bertha. "The man's tread behind 
 you!" 
 
 "She is not to be deceived," observed the Carrier, laughing. 
 "Come along, sir. You'll be welcome, never fear!" 
 
 He spoke in a loud tone ; and, as he spoke, the deaf old gentle- 
 man entered. 
 
 " He's not so much a stranger that you haven't seen him once, 
 Caleb," said the Carrier. "You'll give him house room till 
 we go.?" 
 
 "Oh, surely, John, and take it as an honour!" 
 
 "He's the best company on earth to talk secrets in," said 
 John. "I have reasonable good lungs, but he tries 'em I can 
 tell you. Sit down, sir. All friends here, and glad to see you!" 
 
 When he had imparted this assurance, in a voice that amply 
 corroborated what he had said about his lungs, he added in his 
 natural tone, "A chair in the chimney-corner, and leave to 
 sit quite silent and look pleasantly about him, is all he cares for. 
 He's easily pleased." 
 
 Bertha had been listening intently. She called Caleb to her 
 side, when he had set the chair, and asked him, in a low voice, 
 to describe their visitor. When he had done so (truly now, with 
 scrupulous fidelity), she moved, for the first time since he had 
 come in, and sighed, and seemed to have no further interest 
 concerning him. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth i6i 
 
 The Carrier was in high spirits, good fellow that he was, 
 and fonder of his little wife than ever. 
 
 "A clumsy Dot she was, this afternoon!" he said, encirchng 
 her with his rough arm, as she stood, removed from the rest; 
 '*and yet I like her somehow. See yonder, Dot!" 
 
 He pointed to the old man. She looked down. I think 
 she trembled. 
 
 "He's — ha, ha, ha! — he's full of admiration for you!" 
 said the Carrier. "Talked of nothing else the whole way here. 
 Why, he's a brave old boy! I like him for it!" 
 
 *'I wish he had a better subject, John," she said with an 
 uneasy glance about the room. At Tackleton especially. 
 
 "A better subject!" cried the jovial John. "There's no 
 such thing. Come! off with the great-coat, off with the thick 
 shawl, off with the heavy wrappers ! and a cosy half -hour by the 
 fire My humble service, mistress. A game at cribbage, you 
 and I? That's hearty. The cards and board. Dot. And a 
 glass of beer here, if there's any left, small wife!" 
 
 His challenge was addressed to the old lady, who, accepting it 
 with gracious readiness, they were soon engaged upon the game. 
 At first, the Carrier looked about him sometimes with a smile, or 
 now and then called Dot to peep over his shoulder at his hand, 
 and advise him on some knotty point. But his adversary being 
 a rigid disciplinarian, and subject to an occasional weakness in 
 respect of pegging more than she was entitled to, required such 
 vigilance on his part, as left him neither eyes nor ears to spare. 
 Thus, his whole attention gradually became absorbed upon the 
 cards; and he thought of nothing else, until a hand upon his 
 shoulder restored him to a consciousness of Tackleton. 
 
 "I am sorry to disturb you — but a word directly." 
 
 "Pm going to deal," returned the Carrier. "It's a crisis.'* 
 
 "It is," said Tackleton. "Come here, man!" 
 
 There was that in his pale face which made the other rise 
 immediately, and ask him, in a hurry, what the matter was. 
 
i62 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "Hush! John Peerybingle," said Tackleton, "I am sorry 
 for this. I am indeed. 1 have been afraid of it. I have sus- 
 pected if from the first.'* 
 
 "AVhat is it.''" asked the Carrier with a frightened aspect. 
 
 "Hush! I'll show you, if you'll come with me." 
 
 The Carrier accompanied him without another word. They 
 went across a yard, where the stai-s were shininor, and bv a little 
 side-door, into Tackleton's own counting-house, where there 
 was a class window, commandiuir the ware-room, which was 
 closed for the night. There was no light in the counting-house 
 itself, but there were lamps in the long narrow ware-room; and 
 consequently the window was bright. 
 
 **A moment!" said Tackleton. "Can you bear to look 
 through that window, do you think.-" 
 
 "AVhy not?" returned the Carrier. 
 
 "A moment more," said Tackleton. "Don't commit any 
 violence. It's of no use. It's dangerous too. You're a strong- 
 nuule nuin; and you might do murder before you know it." 
 
 The Carrier looked him in the face, and recoiled a step as if 
 he had been struck. In one stride he was at the window, and 
 he saw 
 
 Oh, Shadow on the Hearth! Oh, truthful Cricket! Oh, 
 perfidious wife! 
 
 He saw her with the old man — old no longer, but erect and 
 ffallant — bearing in his hand the false white hair that had won 
 his way into their desolate and miserable home. He saw her 
 listening to him, as he bent his head to whisper in her ear; and 
 suffering him to clasp her round the waist, as they moved slowly 
 down the dim wooden gallery towards the door by which they 
 had entered it. He saw them stop, and saw her turn — to have 
 the face, the face he loved so, so presented to his view! — and 
 saw her, with her own hands, adjust the lie upon his head, 
 laughing, as she did it, at his unsuspicious nature! 
 
 He clenched his strong right hand at first, as if it would 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 163 
 
 have beaten down a lion. But, opening it immediately again, 
 he spread it out before the eyes of Tackleton (for he was tender 
 of her even then), and so, as they passed out, fell down upon a 
 desk, and was as weak as any infant. 
 
 He was wrapped up to the chin, and busy with his horse and 
 parcels, when she came into the room, prepared for going home. 
 
 "Now, John dear! Good night. May! Good night. Bertha!" 
 
 Could she kiss them.!^ Could she be blithe and cheerful in 
 her parting.^ Could she venture to reveal her face to them 
 without a blush.? Yes. Tackleton observed her closely, and 
 she did all this. 
 
 Tilly was hushing the baby, and she crossed and recrossed 
 Tackleton a dozen times, repeating drowsily: 
 
 "Did the knowledge that it was to be its wives, then, wring 
 its hearts almost to breaking; and did its fathers deceive it from 
 its cradles but to break its hearts at last!" 
 
 " Now, Tilly, give me the Baby ! Good night, Mr. Tackleton. 
 Where's John, for goodness' sake.?" 
 
 " He's going to walk beside the horse's head," said Tackleton; 
 who helped her to her seat. 
 
 "My dear John! Walk.? To-night?'* 
 
 The muffled figure of her husband made a hasty sign in the 
 affirmative; and, the false stranger and the little nurse being in 
 their places, the old horse moved off. Boxer, the unconscious 
 Boxer, running on before, running back, running round and 
 round the cart, and barking as triumphantly and merrily as ever. 
 
 When Tackleton had gone off likewise, escorting May and 
 her mother home, poor Caleb sat down by the fire beside his 
 daughter; anxious and remorseful at the core; and still saying, 
 in his wistful contemplation of her, " Have I deceived her from 
 her cradle, but to break her heart at last.?" 
 
 The toys that had been set in motion for the Baby had all 
 stopped and run down long ago. In the faint light and silence, 
 the imperturbably calm dolls, the agitated rocking-horses with 
 
164 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 distended eyes and nostrils, the old gentlemen at the street- 
 doors, standing half doubled up upon their failing knees and 
 ankles, the wry-faced nut-crackers, the very Beasts upon their 
 way into the Ark, in twos, like a Boarding-School out walking, 
 might have been imagined to be stricken motionless with fan- 
 tastic wonder at Dot being false, or Tackleton beloved, under 
 any combination of circumstances. 
 
CHIRP THE THIRD 
 
 THE Dutch clock in the corner struck Ten when the Carrier 
 sat down by his fireside. So troubled and grief-worn 
 that he seemed to scare the Cuckoo, who, having cut his ten 
 melodious announcements as short as possible, plunged back 
 into the Moorish Palace again, and clapped his little door behind 
 him, as if the unwonted spectacle were too much for his feelings. 
 
 If the little Hay-maker had been armed with the sharpest of 
 scythes, and had cut at every stroke into the Carrier's heart, he 
 never could have gashed and wounded it as Dot had done. 
 
 It was a heart so full of love for her; so bound up and held 
 together by innumerable threads of winning remembrance, 
 spun from the daily working of her many qualities of endear- 
 ment; it was a heart in which she had enshrined herself so gently 
 and so closely; a heart so single and so earnest in its Truth, so 
 strong in right, so weak in wrong,— that it could cherish neither 
 passion nor revenge at first, and had only room to hold the broken 
 image of its Idol. 
 
 But, slowly, slowly, as the Carrier sat brooding on his hearth, 
 now cold and dark, other and fiercer thoughts began to rise 
 within him, as an angry wind comes rising in the night. The 
 Stranger was beneath his outraged roof. Three steps would 
 take him to his chamber door. One blow would beat it in. 
 *'You might do murder before you know it," Tackleton had 
 said. How could it be murder, if he gave the villain time to 
 grapple with him hand to hand ? He was the younger man. 
 
 It was an ill-timed thought, bad for the dark mood of his 
 mind. It was an angry thought, goading him to some avenging 
 act, that should change the cheerful house into a haunted place 
 
1 66 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 which lonely travellers would dread to pass by night; and where 
 tlie timid would see shadows struggling in the ruined windows 
 when the moon was dim, and hear wild noises in the stormy 
 weather. 
 
 He was the younger man! Yes, yes; some lover who had 
 won the heart tluit lie had never touched. Some lover of her 
 early choice, of whom she had thought and dreamed, for whom 
 she had pined and pined, when he had fancied her so happy 
 by his side. Oh, agony to think of it! 
 
 She had been above-stairs with the Baby; getting it to bed. 
 As he sat brooding on the hearth, she came close beside him, 
 without his knowledge — in the turning of the rack of his great 
 misery, he lost all other sounds — and put her little stool at his 
 feet. He only knew it when he felt her hand upon his own, and 
 saw her looking up into his face. 
 
 With wonder.^ No. It was his first impression, and he 
 was fain to look at her again, to set it right. No, not with 
 wonder. ^Yith an eager and inquiring look; but not with wonder. 
 At first it was alarmed and serious; then, it changed into a strange, 
 wild, dreadful smile of recognition of his thoughts; then, there 
 was nothing but her clasped hands on her brow, and her bent 
 head, and falling hair. 
 
 Though the power of Omnipotence had been his to wield 
 at that moment, he had too much of its diviner property of 
 Mercy in his breast, to have turned one feather's weight of it 
 against her. But he could not bear to see her crouching down 
 upon the little seat where he had often looked on her, with love 
 and pride, so innocent and gay; and, when she rose and left 
 him, sobbing as she went, he felt it a relief to have the vacant 
 place beside him rather than her so long-cherished presence. 
 This in itself was anguish keener than all, reminding him how 
 desolate he was become, and how the great bond of his life was 
 rent asunder. 
 
 The more he felt this, and the more he knew he could have 
 
.^ 
 
 o 
 
 5ri 
 
 
 
 
 ^~ o 
 
 •to 
 
 I ^ 
 
 =r^ 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 167 
 
 better borne to see her lying prematurely dead before him with 
 her little child upon her breast, the higher and the stronger rose 
 his wrath against his enemy. He looked about him for a weapon. 
 
 There was a gun hanging on the wall. He took it down, 
 and moved a pace or two towards the door of the perfidious 
 Stranger's room. He knew the gun was loaded. Some shadowy 
 idea that it was just to shoot this man like a wild beast seized 
 him, and dilated in his mind until it grew into a monstrous 
 demon in complete possession of him, casting out all milder 
 thoughts, and setting up its undivided empire. 
 
 That phrase is wrong. Not casting out his milder thoughts, 
 but artfully transforming them. Changing them into scourges 
 to drive him on. Turning water into blood, love into hate, 
 gentleness into blind ferocity. Her image, sorrowing, humbled, 
 but still pleading to his tenderness and mercy with resistless 
 power, never left his mind; but, staying there, it urged him to 
 the door; raised the weapon to his shoulder; fitted and nerved 
 his fingers to the trigger; and cried "Kill him! In his bed!" 
 
 He reversed the gun to beat the stock upon the door; he 
 already held it lifted in the air; some indistinct design was in 
 his thoughts of calling out to him to fly, for God's sake, by 
 the window 
 
 When suddenly, the struggling fire illuminated the whole 
 chimney with a glow of light; and the Cricket on the Hearth 
 began to Chirp! 
 
 No sound he could have heard, no human voice, not even 
 hers, could so have moved and softened him. The artless 
 words in which she had told him of her love for this same Cricket 
 were once more freshly spoken; her trembling, earnest manner 
 at the moment was again before him ; her pleasant voice — oh, 
 what a voice it was for making household music at the fireside 
 of an honest man ! — thrilled through and through his better 
 nature, and awoke it into life and action. 
 
 He recoiled from the door, like a man walking in his sleep. 
 
i68 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 awakened from a frightful dream ; and put the gun aside. Chisp- 
 ing his hands before his faee, he then sat down again beside 
 the fire, and found reUef in tears. 
 
 The Cricket on the Hearth came out into the room, and 
 stood in Fairy shape before him. 
 
 "*I love it/ said the Fairy Voice, repeating what he well 
 remembered, "*for the many tin\es I have heard it, and the 
 many thoughts its harmless music has given me.'" 
 
 *'She said so!" cried the Carrier. "True!" 
 
 '"This has been a happy home, John! and I love the Cricket 
 for its sake!'" 
 
 "It has been. Heaven knows," returned the Carrier. "She 
 made it happy, always, — until now." 
 
 "So gracefully sweet-tempered; so domestic, jo}'ful, busy, 
 and light-hearted!" said the Voice. 
 
 "Otherwise I never could have loved her as I did," returned 
 the Carrier. 
 
 The Voice, correcting him, said "do." 
 
 The Carrier repeated "as I did." But not firmly. His 
 faltering tongue resisted his control, and would speak in its 
 own way for itself and him. 
 
 The Figure, in an attitude of invocation, raised its hand and 
 said : 
 
 " Upon your own hearth " 
 
 "The hearth she has blighted," interposed the Carrier. 
 
 "The hearth she has — how often! -^ blessed and brightened, 
 said the Cricket; "the hearth which, but for her, were only a 
 few stones and bricks and rusty bars, but which has been, 
 through her, the Altar of your Home; on which you have nightly 
 sacritioed some petty passion, selfishness, or care, and offered up 
 the homage of a tranquil mind, a trusting nature, and an over- 
 flowing heart; so that the smoke from this poor chimney has 
 gone upward with a better fragrance than the richest incense 
 tliat is burnt before the richest shrines in all the gaudy temples 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 169 
 
 of this world! — Upon your own hearth; In its quiet sanctuary; 
 surrounded by its gentle influences and associations; hear her! 
 Hear me! Hear everything that speaks the language of your 
 hearth and home!" 
 
 "And pleads for her?" inquired the Carrier. 
 
 "All things that speak the language of your hearth and home 
 must plead for her!" returned the Cricket. "For they speak 
 the truth." 
 
 And while the Carrier, with his head upon his hands, con- 
 tinued to sit meditating in his chair, the Presence stood beside 
 him, suggesting his reflections by its power, and presenting 
 them before him, as in a glass or picture. It was not a solitary 
 Presence. From the hearth-stone, from the chimney, from 
 the clock, the pipe, the kettle, and the cradle; from the floor, the 
 walls, the ceiling, and the stairs; from the cart without, and the 
 cupboard within, and the household implements; from every- 
 thing and every place with which she had ever been familiar, 
 and with which she had ever entwined one recollection of her- 
 self in her unhappy husband's mind, — Fairies came trooping 
 forth. Not to stand beside him as the Cricket did, but to busy 
 and bestir themselves. To do all honour to her image. To pull 
 him by the skirts, and point to it when it appeared. To cluster 
 round it, and embrace it, and strew flowers for it to tread on. 
 To try to crown its fair head with their tiny hands. To show 
 that they were fond of it, and loved it; and that there was not 
 one ugly, wicked, or accusatory creature to claim knowledge 
 of it — none but their playful and a[)i)roving selves. 
 
 His thoughts were constant to her image. It was always 
 there. 
 
 She sat plying her needle, before the fire, and singing to her- 
 self. Such a blithe, thriving, steady little Dot! The Fairy 
 figures turned upon him all at once, by one consent, with one 
 prodigious concentrated stare, and seemed to say, "Is this the 
 light wife you are mourning for?" 
 
170 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 There were sounds of gaiety outside, musical instruments, 
 and noisy tongues, and laugliter. A crowd of young merry- 
 makers came pouring in, among whom were May Fielding and 
 a score of pretty girls. Dot was the fairest of them all; as young 
 as any of them too. They came to summon her to join their 
 party. It was a dance. If ever little foot were made for dan- 
 cing, hers was, surely. But she laughed, and shook her head, 
 and pointed to her cookery on the fire, and her table ready 
 spread; with an exulting defiance that rendered her more charm- 
 ing then she was before. x\nd so she merrily dismissed them, 
 nodding to her would-be partners, one by one, as they passed 
 out, with a comical indifference, enough to make them go and 
 drown themselves immediately if they were her admirers — 
 and they must have been so, more or less; they couldn't help 
 it. And yet indifference was not her character. Oh no! For 
 presently there came a certain Carrier to the door; and, bless 
 her, what a welcome she bestowed upon him! 
 
 Again the staring figures turned upon him all at once, and 
 seemed to say, "Is this the wife who has forsaken you ?" 
 
 A shadow fell upon the mirror or the picture : call it what you 
 will. A great shadow of the Stranger, as he first stood under- 
 neath their roof; covering its surface, and blotting out all other 
 objects. But, the nimble Fairies worked like bees to clear it 
 off again. And Dot again was there. Still bright and beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 Rocking her little Baby in its cradle, singing to it softly, and 
 resting her head upon a shoulder which had its counterpart in 
 the musing figure by which the Fairy Cricket stood. 
 
 The night — I mean the real night : not going by Fairy 
 clocks — was wearing now; and, in this stage of the Carrier's 
 thoughts, the moon burst out, and shone brightly in the sky. 
 Perhaps some calm and quiet light had risen also in his mind; 
 and he could think more soberly of what had happened. 
 
 Although the shadow of the Stranger fell at intervals upon 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 171 
 
 the glass — always distinct, and big, and thoroughly defined — 
 it never fell so darkly as at first. Whenever it appeared, the 
 Fairies uttered a general cry of consternation, and plied their 
 little arms and legs with inconceivable activity to rub it out. 
 And whenever they got at Dot again, and showed her to him 
 once more, bright and beautiful, they cheered in the most 
 inspiring manner. 
 
 They never showed her otherwise than beautiful and bright, 
 for they were Household Spirits to whom falsehood is an annihi- 
 lation; and being so, what Dot was there for them, but the one 
 active, beaming, pleasant little creature who had been the light 
 and sun of the Carrier's Home.^ 
 
 The Fairies were prodigiously excited when they showed 
 her, with the Baby, gossiping among a knot of sage old matrons, 
 and affecting to be wondrous old and matronly herself, and 
 leaning in a staid demure old way upon her husband's arm, 
 attempting — she ! such a bud of a little woman — to convey the 
 idea of having abjured the vanities of the world in general, and 
 of being the sort of person to whom it was no novelty at all to be 
 a mother; yet, in the same breath, they showed her laughing at 
 the Carrier for being awkward, and pulling up his shirt collar 
 to make him smart, and mincing merrily about that very room 
 to teach him how to dance! 
 
 They turned, and stared immensely at him when they showed 
 her with the Blind Girl; for, though she carried cheerfulness 
 and animation with her wheresoever she went, she bore those 
 influences into Caleb Plummer's home, heaped up and running 
 over. The Blind Girl's love for her, and trust in her, and grati- 
 tude to her; her own good busy way of setting Bertha's thanks 
 aside; her dexterous little arts for filling up each moment of 
 the visit in doing something useful to the house, and really work- 
 ing hard while feigning to make holiday; her bountiful provision 
 of those standing delicacies, the Veal and Ham Pie and the 
 bottles of Beer; her radiant little face arriving at the door, and 
 
1/2 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 taking leave; the wonderful expression in her whole self, from 
 her neat foot to the crown of her head, of being a part of the 
 establishment — a something necessary to it, which it couldn't 
 be without, — all this the Fairies revelled in, and loved her for. 
 And once again they looked upon him all at once, appealingly, 
 and seemed to say, while some among them nestled in her dress 
 and fondled her, "Is this the wife who has betrayed your con- 
 fidence?" 
 
 More than once, or twice, or thrice, in the long thoughtful 
 night, they showed her to him sitting on her favourite seat, with 
 her bent head, her hands clasped on her brow, her falling hair. 
 As he had seen her last. And when they found her thus, they 
 neither turned nor looked upon him, but gathered close round 
 her, and comforted and kissed her, and pressed on one another, 
 to show sympathy and kindness to her, and forgot him altogether. 
 
 Thus the night passed. The moon went down; the stars 
 grew pale; the cold day broke; the sun rose. The Carrier still 
 sat, musing, in the chimney-corner. He had sat there, with his 
 head upon his hands, all night. All night the faithful Cricket 
 had been Chirp, Chirp, Chirping on the Hearth. All night he 
 had listened to its voice. All night the Household Fairies had 
 been busy with him. All night she had been amiable and blame- 
 less in the glass, except when that one shadow fell upon it. 
 
 He rose up when it was broad day, and washed and dressed 
 himself. He couldn't go about his customary cheerful avoca- 
 tions — he wanted spirit for them — but it mattered the less 
 that it was Tackleton's wedding-day, and he had arranged to 
 make his rounds by proxy. He had thought to have gone 
 merrily to church with Dot. But such plans were at an end. 
 It was their own wedding-day too. Ah ! how little he had looked 
 for such a close to such a year! 
 
 The Carrier expected that Tackleton would pay him an early 
 visit; and he was right. He had not walked to and fro before 
 his own door many minutes, when he saw the toy merchant 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 173 
 
 coming in his chaise along the road. As the chaise drew nearer, 
 he perceived that Tackleton was dressed out sprucely for his 
 marriage, and that he had decorated his horse's head with 
 flowers and favours. 
 
 The horse looked much more like a bridegroom than Tackle- 
 ton, whose half-closed eye was more disagreeably expressive 
 than ever. But the Carrier took little heed of this. His thoughts 
 had other occupation. 
 
 "John Peeryb ingle ! " said Tackleton with an air of condo- 
 lence. "My good fellow, how do you find yourself this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 "I have had but a poor night, Master Tackleton," returned 
 the Carrier, shaking his head: "for I have been a good deal dis- 
 turbed in my mind. But it's over now ! Can you spare me half 
 an hour or so, for some private talk?" 
 
 "I came on purpose," returned Tackleton, alighting. "Never 
 mind the horse. He'll stand quiet enough, with the reins over 
 this post, if you'll give him a mouthful of hay." 
 
 The Carrier having brought it from his stable and set it be- 
 fore him, they turned into the house. 
 
 "You are not married before noon," he said, "I think.?" 
 
 "No," answered Tackleton. "Plenty of time. Plenty of 
 time." 
 
 When they entered the kitchen, Tilly Slowboy was rapping 
 at the Stranger's door; which was only removed from it by a 
 few steps. One of her very red eyes (for Tilly had been crying 
 all night long, because her mistress cried) was at the keyhole; 
 and she was knocking very loud, and seemed frightened. 
 
 "If you please I can't make nobody hear," said Tilly, look- 
 ing round. "I hope nobody an't gone and been and died if 
 you please!" 
 
 This philanthropic wish Miss Slowboy emphasized with 
 various new raps and kicks at the door, which led to no result 
 whatever. 
 
174 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "Shall I go?" said Tackleton. "It's curious." 
 
 The Carrier, who had turned his face from the door, signed 
 him to go if he would. 
 
 So Tackleton went to Tilly Slowboy's relief; and he too 
 kicked and knocked; and he too failed to get the least reply. 
 But he thought of trying the handle of the door; and, as it opened 
 easily, he peeped in, looked in, went in, and soon came running 
 out again. 
 
 "John Peerybingle," said Tackleton in his ear, "I hope 
 there has been nothing — nothing rash in the night .^" 
 
 The Carrier turned upon him quickly. 
 
 "Because he's gone!" said Tackleton; "and the window's 
 open. I don't see any marks — to be sure, it's almost on a 
 level with the garden: but I was afraid there might have been 
 some — some scuffle. Eh ? " 
 
 He nearly shut up the expressive eye altogether; he looked 
 at him so hard. And he gave his eye, and his face, and his 
 whole person, a sharp twist. As if he would have screwed the 
 truth out of him. 
 
 "Make yourself easy," said the Carrier. "He went into 
 that room last night, without harm in word or deed from me, 
 and no one has entered it since. He is away of his own free- 
 will. I'd go out gladly at that door, and beg my bread from 
 house to house, for life, if I could so change the past that he 
 had never come. But he has come and gone. And I have done 
 with him!" 
 
 " Oh ! — Well, I think he has got off pretty easy," said Tackle- 
 ton, taking a chair. 
 
 The sneer was lost upon the Carrier, who sat down too, and 
 shaded his face with his hand, for some little time, before pro- 
 ceeding. 
 
 "You showed me last night," he said at length, "my wife 
 — my wife that I love — secretly " 
 
 "And tenderly," insinuated Tackleton. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 175 
 
 " — Conniving at that man's disguise, and giving him oppor- 
 tunities of meeting her alone. I think there's no sight I wouldn't 
 have rather seen than that. I think there's no man in the world 
 I wouldn't have rather had to show it me." 
 
 "I confess to having had my suspicions always," said Tackle- 
 ton. "And that has made me objectionable here, I know." 
 
 "But, as you did show it me," pursued the Carrier, not mind- 
 ing him; "and as you saw her, my wife, my wife that I love" 
 
 his voice, and eye, and hand grew steadier and firmer as he re- 
 peated these words: evidently in pursuance of a steadfast pur- 
 pose — "as you saw her at this disadvantage, it is right and 
 just that you should also see with my eyes, and look into my 
 breast, and know what my mind is upon the subject. For it's 
 settled," said the Carrier, regarding him attentively. "And 
 nothing can shake it now." 
 
 Tackleton muttered a few general words of assent about its 
 being necessary to vindicate something or other; but he was 
 overawed by the manner of his companion. Plain and un- 
 polished as it was, it had a something dignified and noble in it, 
 which nothing but the soul of generous honour dwelling in the 
 man could have imparted. 
 
 " I am a plain, rough man," pursued the Carrier " with very 
 little to recommend me. I am not a clever man, as you very 
 well know. I am not a young man. I loved my little Dot, be- 
 cause I had seen her grow up, from a child, in her father's house; 
 because I knew how precious she was ; because she had been my 
 life for years and years. There's many men I can't compare 
 with, who never could have loved my little Dot like me, I 
 think!" 
 
 He paused, and softly beat the ground a short time with his 
 foot, before resuming: 
 
 "I often thought that though I wasn't good enough for her, 
 I should make her a kind husband, and perhaps know her value 
 better than another; and in this way I reconciled it to myself, 
 
176 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 and came to think it might be possible that we should be married. 
 And, in the end, it came about, and we were married!" 
 
 "Hah!" said Tackleton with a significant shake of his head. 
 
 "I had studied myself; I had had experience of myself; I 
 knew how much I loved her, and how happy I should be," 
 pursued the Carrier. "But I had not — I feel it now — sufli- 
 ciently considered her." 
 
 "To be sure," said Tackleton. "Giddiness, frivolity, fickle- 
 ness, love of admiration! Not considered! All left out of 
 sight! Hah!" 
 
 "You had best not interrupt me," said the Carrier with 
 some sternness, "till you understand me; and you're wide of 
 doing so. If, yesterday, I'd have struck that man down at a 
 blow, who dared to breathe a word against her, to-day I'd set 
 my foot upon his face, if he was my brother!" 
 
 The toy merchant gazed at him in astonishment. He went 
 on in a softer tone: 
 
 "Did I consider," said the Carrier, "that I took her — at 
 her age, and with her beauty — from her young companions, 
 and the many scenes of which she was the ornament; in which 
 she was the brightest little star that ever shone, to shut her up 
 from day to day in my dull house, and keep my tedious com- 
 pany.^ Did I consider how little suited I was to her sprightly 
 humour, and how wearisome a plodding man like me must be 
 to one of her quick spirit ? Did I consider that it was no merit 
 in me, or claim in me, that I loved her, when everybody must 
 who knew her.^^ Never. I took advantage of her hopeful 
 nature and her cheerful disposition; and I married her. I wish 
 I never had! For her sake; not for mine!" 
 
 The toy merchant gazed at him without winking. Even 
 the half-shut eye was open now. 
 
 "Heaven bless her!" said the Carrier, "for the cheerful 
 constancy with which she has tried to keep the knowledge of this 
 from me! And Heaven help me, that, in my slow mind, I have 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 177 
 
 not found it out before! Poor child! Poor Dot! I not to 
 find it out, who have seen her eyes fill with tears when such a 
 marriage as our own was spoken of! I, who have seen the 
 secret trembling on her lips a hundred times, and never sus- 
 pected it, till last night! Poor girl! That I could ever hope 
 she would be fond of me! That I could ever believe she was!" 
 
 " She made a show of it," said Tackleton. '* She made such 
 a show of it, that, to tell you the truth, it was the origin of my 
 misgivings." 
 
 And here he asserted the superiority of May Fielding, who 
 certainly made no sort of show of being fond of him. 
 
 "She has tried," said the poor Carrier with greater emotion 
 than he had exhibited yet; "I only now begin to know how hard 
 she has tried, to be my dutiful and zealous wife. How good 
 she has been; how much she has done; how brave and strong a 
 heart she has; let the happiness I have known under this roof 
 bear witness! It will be some help and comfort to me when I 
 am here alone." 
 
 "Here alone .^" said Tackleton. "Oh! Then you do mean 
 to take some notice of this.^" 
 
 "I mean," returned the Carrier, "to do her the greatest 
 kindness, and make her the best reparation, in my power. I 
 can release her from the daily pain of an unequal marriage, and 
 the struggle to conceal it. She shall be as free as I can render 
 her." 
 
 "Make her reparation!" exclaimed Tackleton, twisting and 
 turning his great ears with his hands. "There must be some- 
 thing wrong here. You didn't say that, of course." 
 
 The Carrier set his grip upon the collar of the toy merchant, 
 and shook him like a reed. 
 
 "Listen to me!" he said. "And take care that you hear 
 me right. Listen to me. Do I speak plainly.?" 
 
 "Very plainly indeed," answered Tackleton. 
 
 "As if I meant it.?" 
 
178 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "Very much as if you meant it." 
 
 " I sat upon that hearth, last night, all night," exclaimed the 
 Carrier. "On the spot where she has often sat beside me, with 
 her sweet face looking into mine. I called up her whole life 
 day by day. I had her dear self, in its every passage, in review 
 before me. And, upon my soul, she is innocent, if there is One 
 to judge the innocent and guilty!" 
 
 Staunch Cricket on the Hearth! Loyal Household Fairies! 
 
 "Passion and distrust have left me!" said the Carrier; "and 
 nothing but my grief remains. In an unhappy moment some 
 old lover, better suited to her tastes and years than I, forsaken, 
 perhaps, for me, against her will, returned. In an unhappy 
 moment, taken by surprise, and wanting time to think of what 
 she did, she made herself a party to his treachery by concealing 
 it. Last night she saw him, in the interview we witnessed. It 
 was wrong. But, otherwise than this, she is innocent, if there 
 is truth on earth!" 
 
 "If that is your opinion " Tackleton began. 
 
 "So, let her go!" pursued the Carrier. "Go, with my bless- 
 ing for the many happy hours she has given me, and my forgive- 
 ness for any pang she has caused me. Let her go, and have the 
 peace of mind I wish her! She'll never hate me. She'll learn 
 to like me better when I'm not a drag upon her, and she wears 
 the chain I have riveted more lightly. This is the day on which 
 I took her, with so little thought for her enjoyment, from her 
 home. To-day she shall return to it, and I will trouble her no 
 more. Her father and mother will be here to-day — we had 
 made a little plan for keeping it together — and they shall take 
 her home. I can trust her there, or anywhere. She leaves me 
 without blame, and she will live so I am sure. If I should die 
 — I may perhaps while she is still young; I have lost some 
 courage in a few hours — she'll find that I remembered her, 
 and loved her to the last! This is the end of what you showed 
 me. Now, it's over!" 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 179 
 
 "Oh no, John, not over! Do not say it's over yet! Not 
 quite yet. I have heard your noble words. I could not steal 
 away, pretending to be ignorant of what has affected me with 
 such deep gratitude. Do not say it's over till the clock has 
 struck again!" 
 
 She had entered shortly after Tackleton, and had remained 
 there. She never looked at Tackleton, but fixed her eyes upon 
 her husband. But she kept away from him, setting as wide a 
 space as possible between them; and, though she spoke with 
 most impassioned earnestness, she went no nearer to him even 
 then. How different in this from her old self! 
 
 " No hand can make the clock which will strike again for me 
 the hours that are gone," replied the Carrier with a faint smile. 
 "But let it be so, if you will, my dear. It will strike soon. It's 
 of little matter what we say. I'd try to please you in a harder 
 case than that." 
 
 "Well!" muttered Tackleton. "I must be off, for, when 
 the clock strikes again, it'll be necessary for me to be upon my 
 way to church. Good morning, John Peerybingle. I'm sorry 
 to be deprived of the pleasure of your company. Sorry fox the 
 loss, and the occasion of it too!" 
 
 "I have spoken plainly.?" said the Carrier, accompanying 
 him to the door. 
 
 "Oh, quite!" 
 
 "And you'll remember what I have said.?" 
 
 "Why, if you compel me to make the observation," said 
 Tackleton, previously taking the precaution of getting into his 
 chaise, " I must say that it was so very unexpected, that I'm far 
 from being likely to forget it." 
 
 "The better for us both," returned the Carrier. "Good- 
 bye. I give you joy!" 
 
 "I wish I could give it to you,'' said Tackleton. "As I 
 can't, thankee. Between ourselves (as I told you before, eh.?) 
 I don't much think I shall have the less joy in my married life 
 
i8o The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 because May hasn't been too oflScious about me, and too de- 
 monstrative. Good-bye! Take care of yourself." 
 
 The Carrier stood looking after him until he was smaller in 
 the distance than his horse's flowers and favours near at hand; 
 and then, with a deep sigh, went strolling like a restless, broken 
 man, among some neighbouring elms; unwilling to return until 
 the clock was on the eve of striking. 
 
 His little wife, being left alone, sobbed piteously; but often 
 dried her eyes and checked herself, to say how good he was, how 
 excellent he was! and once or twice she laughed; so heartily, 
 triumphantly, and incoherently (still crying all the time), that 
 Tilly was quite horrified. 
 
 *'Ow, if you please, don't!" said Tilly. "It's enough to 
 dead and bury the Baby, so it is if you please." 
 
 "Will you bring him sometimes to see his father, Tilly," 
 inquired her mistress, drying her eyes, — *' when I can't live 
 here, and have gone to my old home.?" 
 
 "Ow, if you please, don't!" cried Tilly, throwing back her 
 head, and bursting out into a howl — she looked at the moment 
 uncommonly like Boxer. "Ow, if you please, don't! Ow, 
 what has everybody gone and been and done with everybody, 
 making everybody else so wretched.'^ Ow-w-w-w!" 
 
 The soft-hearted Slowboy tailed off at this juncture into 
 such a deplorable howl, the more tremendous from its long sup- 
 pression, that she must infallibly have awakened the Baby, and 
 frightened him into something serious (probably convulsions), 
 if her eyes had not encountered Caleb Plummer leading in his 
 daughter. This spectacle restoring her to a sense of the pro- 
 prieties, she stood for some few moments silent, with her mouth 
 wide open; and then, posting off to the bed on which the Baby 
 lay asleep, danced in a weird, St. Vitus manner on the floor, 
 and at the same time rummaged with her face and head among 
 the bedclothes, apparently deriving much relief from those 
 extraordinary operations. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth i8i 
 
 "Mary!" said Bertha. "Not at the marriage!" 
 
 "I told her you would not be there, mum," whispered Caleb. 
 "I heard as much last night. But bless you," said the little 
 man, taking her tenderly by both hands, " / don't care for what 
 they say. / don't believe them. There an't much of me, but 
 that little should be torn to pieces sooner than I'd trust a word 
 against you!" 
 
 He put his arms about her neck and hugged her, as a child 
 might have hugged one of his own dolls. 
 
 "Bertha couldn't stay at home this morning," said Caleb. 
 "She was afraid, I know, to hear the bells ring, and couldn't 
 trust herself to be so near them on their wedding-day. So we 
 started in good time, and came here. I have been thinking of 
 what I have done," said Caleb after a moment's pause; "I have 
 been blaming myself till I hardly knew what to do, or where 
 to turn, for the distress of mind I have caused her; and I've come 
 to the conclusion that I'd better, if you'll stay with me, mum, 
 the while, tell her the truth. You'll stay with me the while .^" 
 he inquired, trembling from head to foot. "I don't know what 
 effect it may have upon her; I don't know what she'll think of 
 me; I don't know that she'll ever care for her poor father after- 
 wards. But it's best for her that she should be undeceived, 
 and I must bear the consequences as I deserve!" 
 
 "Mary," said Bertha, "where is your hand.'' Ah! Here 
 it is; here it is!" pressing it to her lips with a smile, and drawing 
 it through her arm. "I heard them speaking softly among 
 themselves last night of some blame against you. They were 
 wrong." 
 
 The Carrier's wife was silent. Caleb answered for her. 
 
 "They were wrong," he said. 
 
 "I knew it!" cried Bertha, proudly. "I told them so. I 
 scorned to hear a word! Blame her with justice!" she pressed 
 the hand between her own, and the soft cheek against her face. 
 "No, I am not so blind as that." 
 
i82 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 Her father went on one side of her, while Dot remained 
 upon the other, holding her hand. 
 
 "I know you all," said Bertha, "better than you think. 
 But none so well as her. Not even you, father. There is nothing 
 half so real and so true about me as she is. If 1 could be re- 
 stored to sight this instant, and not a word were spoken, I could 
 choose her from a crowd! My sister!" 
 
 "Bertha, my dear!" said Caleb. "I have something on 
 my mind I want to tell you while we three are alone. Hear me 
 kindly! I have a confession to make to you, my darling!" 
 
 "A confession, father.^" 
 
 "I have wandered from the truth, and lost myself, my child," 
 said Caleb with a pitiable expression in his bewildered face. 
 "I have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you; 
 and have been cruel." 
 
 She turned her wonder-stricken face towards him, and re- 
 peated "Cruel!" 
 
 "He accuses himself too strongly. Bertha," said Dot. " You'll 
 say so presently. You'll be the first to tell him so." 
 
 "He cruel to me!" cried Bertha with a smile of incredulity. 
 
 "Not meaning it, my child," said Caleb. "But I have 
 been : though I never suspected it till yesterday. My dear blind 
 daughter, hear me and forgive me. The world you live in, 
 heart of mine, doesn't exist as I have represented it. The eyes 
 you have trusted in have been false to you." 
 
 She turned her wonder-stricken face towards him still; but 
 drew back, and clung closer to her friend. 
 
 "Your road in life was rough, my poor one," said Caleb, 
 "and I meant to smooth it for you. I have altered objects, 
 changed the characters of people, invented many things that 
 never have been, to make you happier. I have had conceal- 
 ments from you, put deceptions on you, God forgive me! and 
 surrounded you with fancies." 
 
 "But living people are not fancies.^" she said hurriedly, and 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 183 
 
 turning very pale, and still retiring from him. "You can't 
 change them." 
 
 "1 have done so, Bertha," pleaded Caleb. "There is one 
 person that you know, my dove " 
 
 "Oh, father! why do you say, I know.?" she answered in a 
 term of keen reproach. "What and whom do / know.? 1 
 who have no leader! I so miserably blind!" 
 
 In the anguish of her heart, she stretched out her hands, 
 as if she were groping her way; then spread them, in a manner 
 most forlorn and sad, upon her face. 
 
 "The marriage that takes place to-day," said Caleb, "is 
 with a stern, sordid, grinding man. A hard master to you and 
 me, my dear, for many years. Ugly in his looks, and in his 
 nature. Cold and callous always. Unlike what I have painted 
 him to you in everything, my child. In everything." 
 
 "Oh, why," cried the Blind Girl, tortured, as it seemed, 
 almost beyond endurance, "why did you ever do this.? Why 
 did you ever fill my heart so full, and then come in like Death, 
 and tear away the objects of my love.? O Heaven, how blind 
 I am! How helpless and alone!" 
 
 Her afflicted father hung his head, and offered no reply but 
 in his penitence and sorrow. 
 
 She had been but a short time in this passion of regret when 
 the Cricket on the Hearth, unheard by all but her, began to 
 chirp. Not merrily, but in a low, faint, sorrowing way. It was 
 so mournful, that her tears began to flow; and, when the Presence 
 which had been beside the Carrier all night, appeared behind 
 her, pointing to her father, they fell down like rain. 
 
 She heard the Cricket-voice more plainly soon, and was 
 conscious, through her blindness, of the Presence hovering 
 about her father. 
 
 "Mary," said the Blind Girl, "tell me what my home is. 
 What it truly is." 
 
 "It is a poor place, Bertha; very poor and bare indeed. 
 
184 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 The house will scarcely keep out wind and rain another winter. 
 It is as roughly shielded from the weather, Bertha," Dot con- 
 tinued in a low, clear voice, "as your poor father in his sack- 
 cloth coat." 
 
 The Blind Girl, greatly agitated, rose, and led the Carrier's 
 little wife aside. 
 
 "Those presents that I took such care of; that came almost 
 at my wish, and were so dearly welcome to me," she said, trem- 
 bling; " where did they come from ? Did you send them .?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Who, then.?" 
 
 Dot saw she knew already, and was silent. The Blind Girl 
 spread her hands before her face again. But in quite another 
 manner now. 
 
 "Dear Mary, a moment. One moment. More this way. 
 Speak softly to me. You are true I know. You'd not deceive 
 me now ; would you .? " 
 
 "No, Bertha, indeed!" 
 
 "No, I am sure you would not. You have too much pity 
 for me. Mary, look across the room to where we were just 
 now — to where my father is — my father, so compassionate 
 and loving to me — and tell me what you see." 
 
 "I see," said Dot, who understood her well, "an old man 
 sitting in a chair, and leaning sorrowfully on the back, with his 
 face resting on his hand. As if his child should comfort him, 
 Bertha." 
 
 "Yes, yes. She will. Go on." 
 
 " He is an old man, worn with care and work. He is a spare, 
 dejected, thoughtful, grey-haired man. I see him now, despond- 
 ent and bowed down, and striving against nothing. But, 
 Bertha, I have seen him many times before, and striving hard 
 in many ways, for one great sacred object. And I honour his 
 grey head, and bless him!" 
 
 The Blind Girl broke away from her; and, throwing her- 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 185 
 
 self upon her knees before him, took the grey head to her 
 breast. 
 
 "It is my sight restored. It is my sight!" she cried. "I 
 have been bhnd, and now my eyes are open. I never knew him! 
 To think I might have died, and never truly seen the father who 
 has been so loving to me!" 
 
 There were no words for Caleb's emotion. 
 
 "There is not a gallant figure on this earth," exclaimed the 
 Blind Girl, holding him in her embrace, "that I would love so 
 dearly, and would cherish so devotedly, as this! The greyer, 
 and more worn, the dearer, father! Never let them say I am 
 blind again. There's not a furrow in his face, there's not a hair 
 upon his head, that shall be forgotten in my prayers and thanks 
 to Heaven!" 
 
 Caleb managed to articulate, "My Bertha!" 
 
 "And in my blindness I believed him," said the girl, caress- 
 ing him with tears of exquisite affection, "to be so different. 
 And having him beside me day by day, so mindful of me always, 
 never dreamed of this!" 
 
 "The fresh smart father in the blue coat, Bertha," said poor 
 Caleb. "He's gone!" 
 
 "Nothing is gone," she answered. "Dearest father, no! 
 Everything is here — in you. The father that I loved so well; 
 the father that I never loved enough, and never knew; the bene- 
 factor whom I first began to reverence and love, because he had 
 such sympathy for me, — all are here in you. Nothing is dead 
 to me. The soul of all that was most dear to me is here — here, 
 with the worn face, and the grey head. And I am not blind, 
 father, any longer!" 
 
 Dot's whole attention had been concentrated, during this 
 discourse, upon the father and daughter; but looking, now, 
 towards the little Hay-maker in the Moorish meadow, she saw 
 that the clock was within a few minutes of striking, and fell, 
 immediately, into a nervous and excited state. 
 
i86 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 "Father!" said Bertha, hesitating. "Mary!" 
 
 "Yes, my dear," returned Caleb. "Here she is." 
 
 "There is no change in her. You never told me anything 
 of her that was not true.'^" 
 
 "I should have done it, my dear, I'm afraid," returned 
 Caleb, "if I could have made her better than she was. But I 
 must have changed her for the worse, if I had changed her at all. 
 Nothing could improve her, Bertha." 
 
 Confident as the Blind Girl had been when she asked the 
 question, her delight and pride in the reply, and her renewed 
 embrace of Dot, were charming to behold. 
 
 "More changes than you think for may happen, though, 
 my dear," said Dot. "Changes for the better, I mean; changes 
 for great joy to some of us. You mustn't let them startle you 
 too much, if any such should ever happen, and affect you. Are 
 those wheels upon the road.? You've a quick ear. Bertha. 
 Are they wheels.?" 
 
 "Yes. Coming very fast." 
 
 "I — I — I know you have a quick ear," said Dot, placing 
 her hand upon her heart, and evidently talking on as fast as she 
 could, to hide its palpitating state, "because I have noticed it 
 often, and because you were so quick to find out that strange 
 step last night. Though why you should have said, as I very 
 well recollect you did say. Bertha, 'Whose step is that.?' and 
 why you should have taken any greater observation of it than of 
 any other step, I don't know. Though, as I said just now, 
 there are great changes in the world : great changes : and we can't 
 do better than prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly any- 
 thing." 
 
 Caleb wondered what this meant; perceiving that she spoke 
 to him, no less than to his daughter. He saw her, with astonish- 
 ment, so fluttered and distressed that she could scarcely breathe ; 
 and holding to a chair, to save herself from falling. 
 
 "They are wheels indeed!" she panted. "Coming nearer! 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 187 
 
 Nearer! Very close! And now you hear them stopping at 
 the garden-gate ! And now you hear a step outside the door — 
 the same step, Bertha, is it not? — and now !" 
 
 She uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable delight; and running 
 up to Caleb, put her hands upon his eyes, as a young man rushed 
 into the room, and, flinging away his hat into the air, came 
 sweeping down upon them. 
 
 *'Is it over?" cried Dot. 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "Happily over?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Do you recollect the voice, dear Caleb ? Did you ever 
 hear the like of it before?" cried Dot. 
 
 "If my boy in the Golden South Americas was alive !" 
 
 said Caleb, trembling. 
 
 "He is alive!" shrieked Dot, removing her hands from his 
 eyes, and clapping them in ecstasy. "Look at him! See where 
 he stands before you, healthy and strong! Your own dear son. 
 Your own dear living, loving brother. Bertha!" 
 
 All honour to the little creature for her transports! All 
 honour to her tears and laughter, when the three were locked 
 in one another's arms ! All honour to the heartiness with which 
 she met the sunburnt sailor-fellow, with his dark streaming 
 hair, half-way, and never turned her rosy little mouth aside, but 
 suffered him to kiss it freely, and to press her to his bounding 
 heart ! 
 
 And honour to the Cuckoo too — why not ? — for bursting 
 out of the trap-door in the Moorish Palace like a housebreaker, 
 and hiccoughing twelve times on the assembled company, as if 
 he had got drunk for joy! 
 
 The Carrier, entering, started back. And well he might, 
 to find himself in such good company. 
 
 "Look, John!" said Caleb, exultingly, "look here! My 
 own boy from the Golden South Americas! My own son! 
 
i88 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 Him that you fitted out, and sent away yourself! Him that you 
 were always such a friend to!" 
 
 The Carrier advanced to seize him by the hand; but, recoil- 
 ing, as some feature in his face awakened a remembrance of the 
 Deaf Man in the Cart, said : 
 
 "Edward! Was it you?" 
 
 "Now tell him all!" cried Dot. "Tell him all, Edward; 
 and don't spare me, for nothing shall make me spare myself in 
 his eyes, ever again." 
 
 " I was the man," said Edward. 
 
 "And could you steal, disguised, into the house of your old 
 friend.?" rejoined the Carrier. "There was a frank boy once 
 — how many years is it, Caleb, since we heard that he was 
 dead, and had it proved, we thought ? — who never would have 
 done that." 
 
 "There was a generous friend of mine once; more a father 
 to me than a friend," said Edward; "who never would have 
 judged me, or any other man, unheard. You were he. So I 
 am certain you will hear me now." 
 
 The Carrier, with a troubled glance at Dot, who still kept 
 far away from him, replied, "Well! that's but fair. I will." 
 
 "You must know that when I left here a boy," said Edward, 
 "I was in love, and my love was returned. She was a very 
 young girl, who perhaps (you may tell me) didn't know her own 
 mind. But I knew mine, and I had a passion for her." 
 
 "You had!" exclaimed the Carrier. "You!" 
 
 "Indeed I had," returned the other. "And she returned it. 
 I have ever since believed she did, and now I am sure she did." 
 
 "Heaven help me!" said the Carrier. "This is worse than 
 all." 
 
 "Constant to her," said Edward, "and returning, full of 
 hope, after many hardships and perils, to redeem my part of 
 our old contract, I heard, twenty miles away, that she was false 
 to me; that she had forgotten me; and had bestowed herself 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 189 
 
 upon another and a richer man. I had no mind to reproach her; 
 but I wished to see her, and to prove beyond dispute that this 
 was true. I hoped she might have been forced into it against 
 her own desire and recollection. It would be small comfort, 
 but it would be some, I thought, and on I came. That I might 
 have the truth, the real truth, observing freely for myself, and 
 judging for myself, without obstruction on the one hand, or 
 presenting my own influence (if I had any) before her, on the 
 other, I dressed myself unlike myself — you know how ; and 
 waited on the road — you know where. You had no suspicion 
 of me; neither had — had she," pointing to Dot, "until I 
 whispered in her ear at that fireside, and she so nearly be- 
 trayed me." 
 
 "But when she knew that Edward was alive, and had come 
 back," sobbed Dot, now speaking for herself, as she had burned 
 to do, all through this narrative; "and when she knew his pur- 
 pose, she advised him by all means to keep his secret close; 
 for his old friend John Peerybingle was much too open in his 
 nature, and too clumsy in all artifice — being a clumsy man in 
 general," said Dot, half laughing and half crying — "to keep 
 it for him. And when she — that's me, John," sobbed the little 
 woman — " told him all, and how his sweetheart had believed 
 him to be dead; and how she had at last been over-persuaded 
 by her mother into a marriage which the silly, dear old thing 
 called advantageous ; and when she — that's me again, John 
 — told him they were not yet married (though close upon it), 
 and that it would be nothing but a sacrifice if it went on, for 
 there was no love on her side; and when he went nearly mad 
 with joy to hear it, — then she — that's me again — said she would 
 go between them, as she had often done before in old times, 
 John, and would sound his sweetheart, and be sure that what 
 she — me again, John — said and thought was right. And it 
 WAS right, John! And they were brought together, John! 
 And they were married, John, an hour ago! And here's the 
 
190 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 Bride! And Gruff and Tackleton may die a bachelor! And 
 I'm a happy little woman, May, God bless you!" 
 
 She was an irresistible little woman, if that be anything to 
 the purpose; and never so completely irresistible as in her 
 present transports. There never were congratulations so en- 
 dearing and delicious as those she lavished on herself and on 
 the Bride. 
 
 Amid the tumult of emotions in his breast, the honest Carrier 
 had stood confounded. Flying, now, towards her, Dot stretched 
 out her hand to stop him, and retreated as before. 
 
 " No, John, no ! Hear all ! Don't love me any more, John, 
 till you've heard every word I have to say. It was wrong to 
 have a secret from you, John. I'm very sorry. I didn't think 
 it any harm, till I came and sat down by you on the little stool 
 last night. But when I knew, by what was written in your 
 face, that you had seen me walking in the gallery with Edward, 
 and when I knew what you thought, I felt how giddy and how 
 wrong it was. But oh, dear John, how could you, could you 
 think so.^" 
 
 Little woman, how she sobbed again! John Peerybingle 
 would have caught her in his arms. But no; she wouldn't let 
 him. 
 
 "Don't love me yet, please, John! Not for a long time yet! 
 When I was sad about this intended marriage, dear, it Was be- 
 cause I remembered May and Edward such young lovers; and 
 knew that her heart was far away from Tackleton. You be- 
 lieve that, now, don't you, John.?" 
 
 John was going to make another rush at this appeal; but she 
 stopped him again. 
 
 "No; keep there, please, John! When I laugh at you, as I 
 sometimes do, John, and call you clumsy and a dear old goose, 
 and names of that sort, it's because I love you, John, so well, 
 and take such pleasure in your ways, and wouldn't see you 
 altered in the least respect to have you made a king to-morrow." 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 191 
 
 "Hooroar!" said Caleb with unusual vigour. "My opinion!" 
 
 " And when I speak of people being middle-aged and steady, 
 John, and pretend that we are a humdrum couple, going on in 
 a jog-trot sort of way, it's only because I'm such a silly little 
 thing, John, that I like, sometimes, to act as a kind of Play 
 with Baby, and all that: and make believe." 
 
 She saw that he was coming; and stopped him again. But 
 she was very nearly too late. 
 
 " No, don't love me for another minute or two, if you please, 
 John! What I want most to tell you, I have kept to the last. 
 My dear, good, generous John, when we were talking the other 
 night about the Cricket, I had it on my lips to say, that at first 
 I did not love you quite so dearly as I do now; when I first came 
 home here, I was half afraid that I mightn't learn to love you 
 every bit as well as I hoped and prayed I might — being so very 
 young, John! But, dear John, every day and hour I loved you 
 more and more. And if I could have loved you better than I 
 do, the noble words I heard you say this morning would have 
 made me. But I can't. All the affection that I had (it was a 
 great deal, John) I gave you, as you well deserve, long, long 
 ago, and I have no more left to give. Now, my dear husband, 
 take me to your heart again! That's my home, John; and never, 
 never think of sending me to any other!" 
 
 You never will derive so much delight from seeing a glorious 
 little woman in the arms of a third party as you would have 
 felt if you had seen Dot run into the Carrier's embrace. It was 
 the most complete, unmitigated, soul-fraught little piece of 
 earnestness that ever you beheld in all your days. 
 
 You may be sure the Carrier was in a state of perfect rap- 
 ture; and you may be sure Dot was likewise; and you may be 
 sure they all were, inclusive of Miss Slowboy, who wept copiously 
 for joy, and, wishing to include her young charge in the general 
 interchange of congratulations, handed round the Baby to every- 
 body in succession, as if it were something to drink. 
 
192 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 But, now, the sound of wheels was heard again outside the 
 door; and somebody exclaimed that Gruff and Tackleton was 
 coming back. Speedily that worthy gentleman appeared, look- 
 ing warm and flustered. 
 
 "Why, what the Devil's this, John Peeryb ingle .? " said 
 Tackleton. " There's some mistake. I appointed Mrs. Tackle- 
 ton to meet me at the church, and I'll swear I passed her on the 
 road, on her way here. Oh! here she is! I beg your pardon, 
 sir; I haven't the pleasure of knowing you; but, if you can do 
 me the favour to spare this young lady, she has rather a par- 
 ticular engagement this morning." 
 
 "But I can't spare her," returned Edward. "I couldn't 
 think of it." 
 
 "What do you mean, you vagabond.^" said Tackleton. 
 
 " I mean that, as I can make allowance for your being vexed," 
 returned the other with a smile, " I am as deaf to harsh discourse 
 this morning as I was to all discourse last night." 
 
 The look that Tackleton bestowed upon him, and the start 
 he gave! 
 
 "I am sorry, sir," said Edward, holding out May's left hand, 
 and especially the third finger, "that the young lady can't 
 accompany you to church; but, as she has been there once this 
 morning, perhaps you'll excuse her." 
 
 Tackleton looked hard at the third finger, and took a little 
 piece of silver paper, apparently containing a ring, from his 
 waistcoat pocket. 
 
 "Miss Slowboy," said Tackleton, "will you have the kind- 
 ness to throw that in the fire.^ Thankee." 
 
 "It was a previous engagement, quite an old engagement, 
 that prevented my wife from keeping her appointment with you, 
 I assure you," said Edward. 
 
 "Mr. Tackleton will do me the justice to acknowledge that 
 I revealed it to him faithfully; and that I told him, many times, 
 I never could forget it," said May, blushing. 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 193 
 
 "Oh, certainly!" said Tackleton. "Oh, to be sure! Oh, 
 it's all right, it's quite correct! Mrs. Edward Plummer, I 
 infer?" 
 
 "That's the name," returned the bridgeroom. 
 
 "Ah! I shouldn't have known you, sir," said Tackleton, 
 scrutinising his face narrowly, and making a low bow. " I give 
 you joy, sir!" 
 
 "Thankee." 
 
 "Mrs. Peerybingle," said Tackleton, turning suddenly to 
 where she stood with her husband; "I'm sorry. You haven't 
 done me a very great kindness, but, upon my life, I am sorry. 
 You are better than I thought you. John Peerybingle, I am 
 sorry. You understand me; that's enough. It's quite correct, 
 ladies and gentlemen all, and perfectly satisfactory. Good 
 morning!" 
 
 With these words he carried it off, and carried himself off 
 too: merely stopping at the door to take the flowers and favours 
 from his horse's head, and to kick that animal once in the ribs, 
 as a means of informing him that there was a screw loose in his 
 arrangements. 
 
 Of course, it became a serious duty now to make such a day 
 of it as should mark these events for a high Feast and Festival 
 in the Peerybingle Calendar for evermore. Accordingly, Dot 
 went to work to produce such an entertainment as should reflect 
 undying honour on the house and on every one concerned; and, 
 in a very short space of time, she was up to her dimpled elbows in 
 flour, and whitening the Carrier's coat, every time he came near 
 her, by stopping him to give him a kiss. That good fellow 
 washed the greens, and peeled the turnips, and broke the plates, 
 and upset iron pots full of cold water on the fire, and made 
 himself useful in all sorts of ways : while a couple of professional 
 assistants, hastily called in from somewhere in the neighbour- 
 hood, as on a point of life or death, ran against each other in all 
 the doorways and round all the corners, and everybody tumbled 
 
194 
 
 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 over Tilly Slowboy and the Baby, everywhere. Tilly never 
 came out in such force before. Her ubiquity was the theme of 
 general admiration. She was a stumbling-block in the passage 
 at five-and-twenty minutes past two; a man-trap in the kitchen 
 at half -past two precisely; and a pitfall in the garret at five-and- 
 twenty minutes to three. The Baby's head was, as it were, a 
 test and touchstone for every description of matter, animal, 
 vegetable, and mineral. Nothing was in use that day that didn't 
 come, at some time or other, into close acquaintance with it. 
 
 Then there was a great Expedition set on foot to go and 
 find out Mrs. Fielding; and to be dismally penitent to that ex- 
 cellent gentlewoman; and to bring her back, by force, if needful, 
 to be happy and forgiving. And when the Expedition first 
 discovered her, she would listen to no terms at all, but said, an 
 unspeakable number of times, that ever she should have lived 
 to see the day! and couldn't be got to say anything else, except 
 "Now carry me to the grave" : which seemed absurd, on account 
 of her not being dead, or anything at all like it. After a time 
 she lapsed into a state of dreadful calmness, and observed that, 
 when that unfortunate train of circumstances had occurred in 
 the Indigo Trade, she had foreseen that she would be exposed, 
 during her whole life, to every species of insult and contumely; 
 and that she was glad to find it was the case; and begged they 
 wouldn't trouble themselves about her, — for what was she ? — 
 oh dear! a nobody! — but would forget that such a being lived, 
 and would take their course in life without her. From this 
 bitterly sarcastic mood she passed into an angry one, in which 
 she gave vent to the remarkable expression that the worm would 
 turn if trodden on; and, after that, she yielded to a soft regret, 
 and said, if they had only given her their confidence, what might 
 she not have had it in her power to suggest! Taking advantage 
 of this crisis in her feelings, the Expedition embraced her; and 
 she very soon had her gloves on, and was on her way to John 
 Peerybingle's in a state of unimpeachable gentility; with a paper 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 195 
 
 parcel at her side containing a cap of state, almost as tall, and 
 quite as stiff, as a mitre. 
 
 Then, there were Dot's father and mother to come in another 
 little chaise; and they were behind their time; and fears were 
 entertained; and there was much looking out for them down the 
 road; and Mrs. Fielding always would look in the wrong and 
 morally impossible direction; and, being apprised thereof, 
 hoped she might take the liberty of looking where she pleased. 
 At last they came; a chubby little couple, jogging along in a snug 
 and comfortable little way that quite belonged to the Dot family; 
 and Dot and her mother, side by side, were wonderful to see. 
 They were so like each other. 
 
 Then Dot's mother had to renew her acquaintance with 
 May's mother; and May's mother always stood on her gentility; 
 and Dot's mother never stood on anything but her active little 
 feet. And old Dot — so to call Dot's father, I forgot it wasn't 
 his right name, but never mind — took liberties, and shook 
 hands at first sight, and seemed to think a cap but so much 
 starch and muslin, and didn't defer himself at all to the Indigo 
 Trade, but said there was no help for it now; and, in Mrs. 
 Fielding's summing up, was a good-natured kind of man — 
 but coarse, my dear. 
 
 I wouldn't have missed Dot, doing the honours in her wed- 
 ding-gown, my benison on her bright face ! for any money. No ! 
 nor the good Carrier, so jovial and so ruddy, at the bottom of 
 the table. Nor the brown, fresh sailor-fellow, and his hand- 
 some wife. Nor any one among them. To have missed the 
 dinner would have been to miss as jolly and as stout a meal as 
 man need eat; and to have missed the overflowing cups in which 
 they drank The Wedding Day would have been the greatest 
 miss of all. 
 
 After dinner Caleb sang the song about the Sparkling Bowl. 
 As I'm a living man, hoping to keep so for a year or two, he 
 sang it through. 
 
196 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 And, by-the-bye, a most unlooked-for incident occurred, 
 just as he finished the last verse. 
 
 There was a tap at tlie door; and a man came staggering in, 
 without saying with your leave, or by your leave, with something 
 heavy on his head. Setting this down in the middle of the 
 table, symmetrically in tlie centre of tlie nuts and apples, he 
 said : 
 
 "Mr. Tackleton's compliments, and, as he hasn't got no 
 use for the cake himself, p'raps you'll eat it.'' 
 
 And, with those words, he walked off. 
 
 There was some surprise among the company, as you may 
 imagine. Mrs. Fielding, being a lady of infinite discernment, 
 suggested that the cake was poisoned, and related a narrative 
 of a cake which, within her knowledge, had turned a seminary 
 for young ladies blue. But she was overruled by acclamation; 
 and the cake was cut by May with much ceremony and rejoicing. 
 
 I don't think any one had tasted it, when there came another 
 tap at the door, and the same man appeared again, having 
 under his arm a vast brown-paper parcel. 
 
 " Mr. Tackleton's compliments, and he's sent a few toys for 
 the Babby. They ain't ugly." 
 
 After the delivery of which expressions, he retired again. 
 
 The whole party would have experienced great difficulty in 
 finding words for their astonishment, even if they had had 
 ample time to seek them. But they had none at all; for the 
 messenger had scarcely shut the door behind him, when there 
 came another tap, and Tackleton himself walked in. 
 
 *'Mrs. Peerybingle ! " said the toy merchant, hat in hand, 
 "I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than I was this morning. I have 
 had time to think of it. John Peerybingle! I am sour by dis- 
 position; but 1 can't help being sweetened, more or less, by 
 coming face to face with such a man as you. Caleb! This 
 unconscious little nurse gave me a broken hint last night, of 
 which I have found the thread. I blush to think how easilv I 
 
The Cricket on the Hearth 197 
 
 might have bound you and your daughter to me, and what a 
 miserable idiot I was when I took her for one! Friends, one 
 and all, my house is very lonely to-night. I have not so much 
 as a Cricket on my Hearth. I have scared them all away. Be 
 gracious to me: let me join this happy party!" 
 
 He was at home in five minutes. You never saw such a 
 fellow. What had he been doing with himself all his life, never 
 to have known before his great capacity of being jovial.? Or 
 what had the Fairies been doing with him, to have effected such 
 a change ? 
 
 "John! you won't send me home this evening, will you.?" 
 whispered Dot. 
 
 He had been very near it, though. 
 
 There wanted but one living creature to make the party 
 complete; and, in the twinkling of an eye, there he was, very 
 thirsty with hard running, and engaged in hopeless endeavours 
 to squeeze his head into a narrow pitcher. He had gone with 
 the cart to its journey's end, very much disgusted with the 
 absence of his master, and stupendously rebellious to the Deputy. 
 After lingering about the stable for some little time, vainly 
 attempting to incite the old horse to the mutinous act of return- 
 ing on his own account, he had walked into the taproom, and 
 laid himself down before the fire. But, suddenly yielding to 
 the conviction that the Deputy was a humbug, and must be 
 abandoned, he had got up again, turned tail, and come home. 
 
 There was a dance in the evening. With which general 
 mention of that recreation, I should have left it alone, if I had 
 not some reason to suppose that it was quite an original dance, 
 and one of a most uncommon figure. It was formed in an odd 
 way; in this way. 
 
 Edward, that sailor-fellow — a good free dashing sort of 
 fellow he was — had been telling them various marvels con- 
 cerning parrots, and mines, and Mexicans, and gold dust, when 
 all at once he took it in his head to jump up from his seat and 
 

 198 The Cricket on the Hearth 
 
 propose a dance; for Bertha's harp was there, and she such a 
 hand upon it as you seldom hear. Dot (sly little piece of affec- 
 tation when she chose) said her dancing days were over; 7 
 think because the Carrier was smoking his pipe, and she liked 
 sitting by him best. Mrs. Fielding had no choice, of course, 
 but to say her dancing days were over, after that; and every- 
 body said the same, except May; May was ready. 
 
 So, May and Edward get up, amid great applause, to dance 
 alone; and Bertha plays her liveliest tune. 
 
 Well ! if you 11 believe me, they had not been dancing five 
 minutes, when suddenly the Carrier flings his pipe away, takes 
 Dot round the waist, dashes out into the room, and starts off 
 with her, toe and heel, quite wonderfully. Tackleton no sooner 
 sees this than he skims across to Mrs. Fielding, takes her round 
 the waist, and follows suit. Old Dot no sooner sees this than 
 up he is, all alive, whisks off Mrs. Dot into the middle of the 
 dance, and is foremost there. Caleb no sooner sees this than 
 he clutches Tilly Slowboy by both hands, and goes off at score; 
 Miss Slowboy, firm in the belief that diving hotly in among the 
 other couples, and effecting any number of concussions with 
 them, is your only principle of footing it. 
 
 Hark! how the Cricket joins the music with its Chirp, Chirp, 
 Chirp; and how the kettle hums! 
 
 w tT tT w "TT "Tr 
 
 But what is this.^ Even as I listen to them blithely, and 
 turn towards Dot, for one last glimpse of a little figure very 
 pleasant to me, she and the rest have vanished into air, and I am 
 left alone. A Cricket sings upon the Hearth; a broken child's 
 toy lies upon the ground: and nothing else remains. 
 
 i-&My2j 
 

 
 ■ •■ iA;i:;Vjvv.;';.jfe;^ 
 
 , , ;..■-;.',% vl'r.fv ••;'■■ 
 
 
 
 ••;nf' 
 
 
 
 ■M-' ' '•'•v.ii-.'ivr 
 
 ;*,nN,<'„:,rA .,^' 
 
 ■-' !']►' 
 
 ,'A',', 
 
 s' .'.••/ 
 
 ■m 
 
 a!'," 
 
 
 
 fefc 
 
 ^:0'i,