solution of these riddles easy.
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He looked about in that very place for his own image; but another man
stood in his accustomed corner, and though 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 thoughtful quest, he fancied from
the turn of the hand, and its situation 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 without, by a frousy 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
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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, old Joe, here's a chance. If we
haven't all three met here without meaning it.'
`You couldn't have met in a better place,' said old Joe, removing 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 in 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 them after he was dead, a wicked old screw,'
pursued the woman,' why wasn't he natural in his lifetime. If he had been,
he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with Death,
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instead of lying gasping 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 know 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 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 teaspoons, 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.
Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it,
and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large and heavy
roll of some dark stuff.
`What do you call this.' said Joe. `Bed-curtains.'
`Ah.' returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her
crossed arms. `Bed-curtains.'
`You don't mean to say you took them down, rings and all, with him
lying there.' said Joe.
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`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 them, I dare say.'
`I hope he didn't die of any thing 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 becoming to the body. He can't look uglier than he
did in that one.'
Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat 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 demons, marketing the corpse itself.
`Ha, ha.' laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing 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 that way, now.
Merciful Heaven, what is this.'
He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost
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touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath 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 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 that 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 beneath 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
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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 vain, to work with her needle;
and could hardly bear the voices of the 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 remarkable expression in it now; a kind
of serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to
repress.
He sat down to the dinner that had been boarding for him by the fire;
and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a
long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.
`Is it good.' she said, `or bad?' -- to help him.
`Bad,' he answered.
`We are quite ruined.'
`No. There is hope yet, Caroline.'
`If he relents,' she said, amazed, `there is. Nothing is past hope, if such
a miracle has happened.'
`He is past relenting,' said her husband. `He is dead.'
She was a mild and patient creature if her face spoke truth; but she was
thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped hands. She
prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry; but the first was the
emotion of her heart.
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`What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to
me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay; and what I thought
was a mere excuse to avoid me; turns out to have been quite true. He was
not only very ill, but dying, then.'
`To whom will our debt be transferred.'
`I don't know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money;
and even though we were not, it would be a bad fortune indeed to find so
merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light
hearts, Caroline.'
Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children's
faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little understood,
were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man's death. The only
emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of
pleasure.
`Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,' said Scrooge;' or
that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever present
to me.'
The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet;
and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but
nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house; the
dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and the children
seated round the fire.
Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in
one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him. The
mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing. But surely they were
very quiet.
`And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them.'
Where had Scrooge heard those words. He had not dreamed them. The
boy must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold.
Why did he not go on.
The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her
face.
`The colour hurts my eyes,' she said.
The colour. Ah, poor Tiny Tim.
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`They're better now again,' said Cratchit's wife. `It makes them weak
by candle-light; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he
comes home, for the world. It must be near his time.'
`Past it rather,' Peter answered, shutting up his book. `But I think he
has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother.'
They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful
voice, that only faltered once:
`I have known him walk with -- I have known him walk with Tiny Tim
upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.'
`And so have I,' cried Peter. `Often.'
`And so have I,' exclaimed another. So had all.
`But he was very light to carry,' she resumed, intent upon her work,'
and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And there is
your father at the door.'
She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter -- he had
need of it, poor fellow -- came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob,
and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young
Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against his
face, as if they said,' Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved.'
Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the
family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and
speed of Mrs Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before
Sunday, he said.
`Sunday. You went to-day, then, Robert.' said his wife.
`Yes, my dear,' returned Bob. `I wish you could have gone. It would
have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often. I
promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child.'
cried Bob. `My little child.'
He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped
it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.
He left the room, and went up-stairs into the room above, which was
lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas. There was a chair set close
beside the child, and there were signs of some one having been there,
lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and
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composed himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what had
happened, and went down again quite happy.
They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still.
Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr Scrooge's nephew,
whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in the street
that day, and seeing that he looked a little -' just a little down you know,'
said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. `On which,' said
Bob,' for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him.
`I am heartily sorry for it, Mr Cratchit,' he said,' and heartily sorry for your
good wife.' By the bye, how he ever knew that, I don't know.'
`Knew what, my dear.'
`Why, that you were a good wife,' replied Bob.
`Everybody knows that.' said Peter.
`Very well observed, my boy.' cried Bob. `I hope they do. `Heartily
sorry,' he said,' for your good wife. If I can be of service to you in any
way,' he said, giving me his card,' that's where I live. Pray come to me.'
Now, it wasn't,' cried Bob,' for the sake of anything he might be able to do
for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really
seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim, and felt with us.'
`I'm sure he's a good soul.' said Mrs Cratchit.
`You would be surer of it, my dear,' returned Bob,' if you saw and
spoke to him. I shouldn't be at all surprised - mark what I say. -- if he got
Peter a better situation.'
`Only hear that, Peter,' said Mrs Cratchit.
`And then,' cried one of the girls,' Peter will be keeping company with
some one, and setting up for himself.'
`Get along with you.' retorted Peter, grinning.
`It's just as likely as not,' said Bob,' one of these days; though there's
plenty of time for that, my dear. But however and when ever we part from
one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim -- shall we
-- or this first parting that there was among us.'
`Never, father.' cried they all.
`And I know,' said Bob,' I know, my dears, that when we recollect how
patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall
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not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.'
`No, never, father.' they all cried again.
`I am very happy,' said little Bob,' I am very happy.'
Mrs Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young
Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny
Tim, thy childish essence was from God.
`Spectre,' said Scrooge,' something informs me that our parting
moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that
was whom we saw lying dead.'
The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before --
though at a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in
these latter visions, save that they were in the Future -- into the resorts of
business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not stay
