The Last Spirit

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.

The Phantom approached slowly, solemnly, and silently. When it came near, Scrooge knelt down. For the Spirit seemed to scatter gloom and mystery through the very air it moved through.

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 darkness by which it was surrounded.

It was wrapped in a deep black garment that hid its head, face, and body. Only one outstretched hand was visible. Without that hand, it would have been hard to distinguish the figure from the night and the darkness surrounding it.

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.

When it came beside him, he sensed that it was tall and imposing. Its mysterious presence filled him with deep dread. He knew nothing more, because the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

“I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” said Scrooge.

“Am I standing before the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” said Scrooge.

The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.

The Spirit did not answer, but pointed ahead 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?”

“You are about to show me shadows of things that have not happened yet, but will happen in the future,” Scrooge continued. “Is that right, 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.

The folds at the top of the garment tightened for a moment, as if the Spirit had bowed 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.

Although Scrooge was used to the company of ghosts by now, the silent figure frightened him so much that his legs trembled. As he prepared to follow it, he found he could hardly stand. The Spirit paused for a moment, as if noticing his condition and giving him time to recover.

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.

But this only made Scrooge feel worse. He felt a vague, uncertain horror knowing that ghostly eyes were staring at him from behind the dark shroud. Yet, though he strained his own eyes as hard as he could, he could see nothing but a ghostly 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?”

“Ghost of the Future!” he exclaimed, “I fear you more than any ghost I have seen. But I know you are here to help me. And I hope to live to become a different man from the one I was. So I am ready to go with you, and I do so with a grateful heart. Won’t you speak to me?”

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

It did not answer him. The hand pointed straight ahead of them.

“Lead on!” said Scrooge. “Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!”

“Go on!” said Scrooge. “Go on! The night is passing quickly, and I know this time is precious to me. Go 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.

The Phantom moved away just as it had approached him. Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress. He thought the shadow lifted him up 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.

They hardly seemed to enter the city. Instead, the city seemed to spring up around them and surround them of its own accord. But there they were, in the heart of the city, at the Exchange among the merchants. The merchants hurried up and down, jingled the money in their pockets, and talked in groups. They checked their watches and thoughtfully fiddled with their large gold seals, and so on, as Scrooge had often seen them do.

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.

The Spirit stopped beside a small group of businessmen. Seeing the hand pointing at them, Scrooge stepped closer to listen.

“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.”

“No,” said a very fat man with an enormous chin. “I don’t know much about it either way. I only know he’s dead.”

“When did he die?” inquired another.

“When did he die?” asked another.

“Last night, I believe.”

“Last night, I think.”

“Why, what was the matter with him?” asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box. “I thought he’d never die.”

“Why, what was wrong with him?” asked a third person, taking a huge amount of snuff from a very large snuffbox. “I thought he’d never die.”

“God knows,” said the first, with a yawn.

“God knows,” the first one said, yawning.

“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.

“What has he done with his money?” asked a red-faced gentleman. He had a growth hanging from the end of his nose, which shook like a turkey’s wattle.

“I haven’t heard,” said the man with the large chin, yawning again. “Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn’t left it to me. That’s all I know.”

“I haven’t heard,” said the man with the large chin, yawning again. “Perhaps he left it to his company. He hasn’t left it to me. That’s all I know.”

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.

Everyone laughed at the joke.

“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. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?”

“It’s likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said the same speaker. “Because, honestly, I don’t know anyone who would go. What if we got a group together and volunteered to attend?”

“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.”

“I don’t mind going if lunch is provided,” said the gentleman with the growth on his nose. “But I must be fed if I’m going to join in.”

Another laugh.

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 that I wasn’t his most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!”

“Well, I’m the least self-interested among you, after all,” said the first speaker. “I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I’ll offer to go if anyone else will. Now that I think about it, I’m not at all sure I wasn’t his closest friend. After all, we used to stop and talk whenever we met. Bye, bye!”

Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the Spirit for an explanation.

The speakers and listeners walked away and joined other groups. Scrooge knew the men and looked to the Spirit for an explanation.

The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.

The Phantom glided into a street. It pointed to two people who were meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking 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; strictly in a business point of view.

He knew these men perfectly well, too. They were businessmen, very wealthy and important. He had always made sure they thought well of him. From a business standpoint, that is. Strictly from a business standpoint.

“How are you?” said one.

“How are you?” said one.

“How are you?” returned the other.

“How are you?” the other replied.

“Well!” said the first. “Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?”

“Well!” said the first. “Old Scratch, the devil, has finally claimed his own, huh?”

“So I am told,” returned the second. “Cold, isn’t it?”

“So I’ve been told,” replied the second person. “Cold, isn’t it?”

“Seasonable for Christmas time. You’re not a skater, I suppose?”

“Typical weather for Christmas. You don’t skate, I suppose?”

“No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning!”

“No. No. Something else to think about. Good morning!”

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their goodbye.

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 solution of these riddles easy.

At first, Scrooge was surprised that the Spirit considered such seemingly trivial conversations important. But he felt sure they must have some hidden purpose, so he tried to work out what it might be. The conversations could hardly have anything to do with the death of Jacob, his old partner. That was in the Past, and this Ghost’s domain was the Future. Nor could Scrooge think of anyone close to him to whom the conversations might apply. But he had no doubt that, whoever they concerned, they held some hidden lesson for his own improvement. So he resolved to remember every word he heard and everything he saw. He resolved especially to watch the shadow of himself when it appeared. He expected his future self’s conduct to give him the missing clue and make these riddles easy to solve.

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.

He looked around that very place for himself, but another man stood in his usual corner. Though the clock showed the time when he was usually there, he saw no sign of himself among the crowds pouring in through the Porch. This hardly surprised him, however. He had been thinking about changing his life, and he thought and hoped his new resolutions had been carried out.

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.

The Phantom stood quietly beside him in the darkness, its hand outstretched. When he came out of his thoughtful search, he noticed the position of the hand and the way it was turned. From this, he imagined that the Unseen Eyes were staring intently at him. The thought 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.

They left the busy scene and went to an unfamiliar part of town. Scrooge had never been there before, although he knew where it was and knew its bad reputation. The streets were filthy and narrow. The shops and houses were miserable, and the people were half-naked, drunk, shabby, and ugly. Alleys and archways, like cesspools, poured their foul smells, dirt, and life into the winding streets. The whole neighborhood stank of crime, 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.

Deep in this notorious haunt stood a low, overhanging shop beneath a sloping roof. The shop bought iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and greasy scraps. Inside, heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and all kinds of scrap iron covered the floor. Mountains of filthy rags, masses of rotten fat, and tombs of bones bred and hid secrets few would care to examine. Among the goods he traded, beside a charcoal stove made of old bricks, sat a gray-haired scoundrel, nearly seventy years old. He had screened himself from the cold air outside with a shabby curtain of assorted rags hung on a line. He smoked his pipe in the full luxury of peaceful seclusion.

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.

Scrooge and the Phantom came upon the man just as a woman slipped into the shop carrying a heavy bundle. But she had barely entered when another woman came in, carrying a similar load. A man in faded black clothes followed close behind. He was just as startled to see the women as they had been to recognize each other. For a moment, all three stood in stunned silence, as did the old man with the pipe. Then the three newcomers burst out laughing.

“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!”

“Trust the cleaning woman to be first!” cried the woman who had entered first. “Trust the laundress to be second, and the undertaker’s man to be third. Look here, old Joe, what a coincidence! All three of us have met here without planning to!”

“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.”

“You couldn’t have met in a better place,” said old Joe, taking his pipe from his mouth. “Come into the parlour. You’ve long been welcome there, you know, and the other two aren’t strangers. Wait while I shut the shop door. Ah! How it squeaks! I don’t believe there’s a rustier piece of metal here than the door’s own hinges. And I’m sure there are no older bones here than mine. Ha, ha! We all suit our trade. 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.

The parlor was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man used an old stair rod to rake the fire together. It was night, and he adjusted his smoky lamp with the stem of his pipe. Then he put the pipe back in his mouth.

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.

While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor. She sat down on a stool with a show of confidence. She crossed her elbows on her knees and stared boldly and defiantly 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.”

“So what? What does it matter, Mrs. Dilber?” said the woman. “Everyone has a right to look after themselves. He always did.”

“That’s true, indeed!” said the laundress. “No man more so.”

“That’s certainly true!” 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?”

“Then don’t stand there staring as if you’re afraid, woman. Who’s going to know? We’re not going to criticize each other, are we?”

“No, indeed!” said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. “We should hope not.”

“No, of course not!” Mrs. Dilber and the man said together. “We certainly 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.”

“All right, then!” cried the woman. “That’s enough. Who’s hurt by losing a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose.”

“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.

“No, certainly not,” said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.

“If he wanted to keep ’em 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, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself.”

“If he wanted to keep them after he died, that wicked old miser,” the woman went on, “why wasn’t he kind when he was alive? If he had been, someone would have looked after him when death struck. Instead, he lay there alone, gasping out his last breath.”

“It’s the truest word that ever was spoke,” said Mrs. Dilber. “It’s a judgment on him.”

“That’s the truest thing ever said,” said Mrs. Dilber. “It’s a punishment for 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.”

“I wish the punishment had been a little heavier,” the woman replied. “And it would have been, you can be sure, if I could have gotten my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and tell me what it’s worth. Speak plainly. I’m not afraid to be the first, or to let them see it. I believe we all knew well enough that we were helping ourselves before we met here. 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.

But her friends were too gallant to allow this. The man in faded black stepped forward first and produced his loot. There was not much. All he had was a seal or two, a pencil case, a pair of sleeve buttons, and a brooch of little value. Old Joe examined and valued each item. He chalked the amount he was willing to pay for each one on the wall. When he found there was nothing more, he added the sums together.

“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?”

“That’s your total,” said Joe. “I wouldn’t give another sixpence, even if I were boiled for refusing. 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.

Mrs. Dilber was next. She had sheets, towels, some clothes, two old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar tongs, and a few boots. Her account was recorded on the wall in the same way.

“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.”

“I always give ladies too much. It’s a weakness of mine, and that’s how I ruin myself,” said old Joe. “That’s what I’ll pay you. If you asked me for another penny and made me reconsider, I’d regret being so generous and take off half a crown.”

“And now undo my bundle, Joe,” said the first woman.

“And now open 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.

Joe knelt down to open it more easily. After untying many knots, he pulled out a large, heavy roll of dark material.

“What do you call this?” said Joe. “Bed-curtains!”

“What do you call this?” Joe said. “Bed curtains!”

“Ah!” returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed arms. “Bed-curtains!”

“Ah!” the woman replied, 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.

“You don’t mean you took them down, rings and all, while he was lying there?” said Joe.

“Yes I do,” replied the woman. “Why not?”

“Yes, I do,” the woman replied. “Why not?”

“You were born to make your fortune,” said Joe, “and you’ll certainly do it.”

“You were born to make a fortune,” said Joe, “and you certainly will.”

“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.”

“I certainly won’t hold back when I can get something by reaching for it, just for the sake of a man like him. I promise you that, Joe,” the woman replied coolly. “Don’t spill that oil on the blankets.”

“His blankets?” asked Joe.

“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.”

“Whose else do you think?” the woman replied. “I don’t suppose he’s likely to catch cold without them.”

“I hope he didn’t die of anything catching? Eh?” said old Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.

“I hope he didn’t die of anything contagious. Did he?” said old Joe, stopping 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.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the woman replied. “I’m not so fond of his company that I’d hang around him for things like that, if he did. Ah! You can look over that shirt until your eyes ache, but you won’t find a hole or a worn patch. It’s the best shirt he had, and a fine one too. They would have wasted it if it hadn’t been for me.”

“What do you call wasting of it?” asked old Joe.

“What do you mean by wasting 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.”

“Putting it on him for burial, of course,” the woman replied with a laugh. “Someone was foolish enough to do that, but I took it off again. If calico isn’t good enough for that purpose, it isn’t good enough for anything. It looks just as good on 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 had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself.

Scrooge listened to their conversation in horror. They sat around their stolen goods in the dim light of the old man’s lamp. Scrooge looked at them with hatred and disgust. He could hardly have felt more disgusted if they had been vile demons selling 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!”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the same woman as old Joe pulled out a flannel bag of money. He counted out each person’s share on the ground. “This is how it ends, you see! He frightened everyone away from him while he was alive, so we could profit when he died! 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!”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, shaking from head to toe. “I see, I see. What happened to this unhappy man might happen to me. My life is heading that 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, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.

He recoiled in terror because the scene had changed. Now he almost touched a bare bed with no curtains. Something lay on it, covered by a ragged sheet. Though it was silent, it 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.

The room was very dark, too dark to see clearly. Yet Scrooge glanced around, driven by a secret impulse and eager to know what kind of room it was. A pale light from outside fell directly on the bed. There lay the man's body, robbed and stripped, with no one to watch over him, mourn him, or care for him.

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.

Scrooge glanced at the Phantom. Its hand pointed steadily at the head. The cover had been placed so carelessly that the slightest lift would reveal the face. Scrooge needed only to move a finger. He thought about it, felt how easy it would be, and longed to do it. But he was no more able to lift the veil than to send away 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!

Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up your altar here. Decorate it with all the terrors at your command, for this is your domain! But you cannot bend a single hair on that loved, respected, and honored head to your dreadful purposes. You cannot make one feature ugly. What matters is not that the hand is heavy and falls when released. Nor is it that the heart and pulse are still. What matters is that the hand was open, generous, and true. The heart was brave, warm, and tender, and the pulse was a man’s. Strike, Shadow, strike! See his good deeds spring from the wound and sow the world with everlasting life!

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!

No voice spoke these words in Scrooge’s ears, yet he heard them when he looked at the bed. He wondered what this man’s first thoughts would be if he could be brought back to life now. Greed, ruthless dealings, and gnawing worries? They have brought him to a rich end, indeed!

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.

He lay in the dark, empty house. Not a man, woman, or child was there to say, “He was kind to me in one way or another. In memory of one kind word, I will be kind to him.” A cat was tearing at the door, and rats could be heard gnawing beneath the hearthstone. Scrooge did not dare think what they wanted in the room of death, or why they were so restless and disturbed.

“Spirit!” he said, “this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!”

“Spirit!” he said, “this is a frightening place. Trust me, I won’t forget its lesson when I leave. Let’s go!”

Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.

Still, the Ghost kept its finger pointed at 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.”

“I understand you,” Scrooge replied, “and I would do it if I could. But I can't, Spirit. I don't have the power.”

Again it seemed to look upon him.

Again, it seemed to look at 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!”

“If anyone in town feels any emotion over this man’s death,” Scrooge said in anguish, “please show me that person, Spirit!”

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.

The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing. Then it drew the robe back, revealing a room in 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.

She was anxiously waiting for someone. She paced up and down the room and jumped at every sound. She looked out the window and glanced at the clock. She tried to sew, but could not. She could hardly bear the sound of the children playing.

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.

At last, the knock they had been waiting for came. She hurried to the door and met her husband. Though young, he looked worn down by worry and sadness. Now his face showed a striking expression, a kind of serious delight. He was ashamed of it and struggled to hide it.

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.

He sat down to the dinner that had been kept warm for him by the fire. After a long silence, she faintly asked what news he had. He seemed embarrassed and unsure how to answer.

“Is it good?” she said, “or bad?”—to help him.

“Is it good or bad?” she asked, trying to help him.

“Bad,” he answered.

“Bad,” he answered.

“We are quite ruined?”

“We’re completely ruined?”

“No. There is hope yet, Caroline.”

“No. There is still hope, Caroline.”

“If he relents,” she said, amazed, “there is! Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened.”

“If he changes his mind,” she said, amazed, “there is! Nothing is beyond hope if such a miracle has happened.”

“He is past relenting,” said her husband. “He is dead.”

“He can no longer change his mind,” 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.

If her face told the truth, she was a gentle and patient woman. But she was deeply thankful to hear it, and she said so with her hands clasped. The next moment, she prayed for forgiveness and felt sorry. But her first feeling had come from the heart.

“What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week’s delay; and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid me; turns out to have been quite true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then.”

“The half-drunk woman I told you about last night spoke to me when I tried to see him and get a week’s delay. I thought what she said was just an excuse to avoid me, but it turned out to be quite true. He was not only very ill then, but dying.”

“To whom will our debt be transferred?”

“Who will our debt be transferred to?”

“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!”

“I don’t know. But we’ll have the money ready before then. Even if we don’t, we’d be very unlucky if his successor were as merciless a creditor. We may sleep tonight 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.

Yes. However much they tried to soften it, their hearts were lighter. The children were quiet and gathered around to hear what they barely understood. Their faces were brighter, and the house was happier because this man had died! The only emotion the Ghost could show him that the death had caused was 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.”

“Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,” said Scrooge. “Otherwise, Spirit, I will never forget the dark room we just left.”

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.

The Ghost led Scrooge through several streets he knew well. As they walked, Scrooge looked around for himself, but he was nowhere to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit’s house, which Scrooge had visited before. They found the mother and children sitting around 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!

Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits sat in one corner, as still as statues. They looked up at Peter, who had a book in front of him. Their mother and sisters were sewing. But they were so very quiet!

“ ‘And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them.’ ”

“ ‘And he took a child and placed him among 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?

Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy must have read them aloud as Scrooge and the Spirit walked through the doorway. Why didn’t the boy keep reading?

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

The mother put her work on the table and raised her hand to her face.

“The colour hurts my eyes,” she said.

“The color hurts my eyes,” she said.

The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!

The color? Oh, 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.”

“They’re better again now,” said Cratchit’s wife. “The candlelight makes my eyes weak. I wouldn’t want your father to see them like that when he comes home, not for anything. It must be nearly time for him to arrive.”

“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.”

“Past it, actually,” Peter replied, closing his book. “But I think he has walked a little slower than usual these past few evenings, Mother.”

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

They were both quiet again. At last, she spoke in a steady, cheerful voice that faltered only once:

“I have known him walk with—I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.”

“I have seen him walk with, I have seen him walk very fast with Tiny Tim on his shoulder.”

“And so have I,” cried Peter. “Often.”

“Me too,” Peter cried. “Often.”

“And so have I,” exclaimed another. So had all.

“And I have too,” exclaimed another. They all had.

“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!”

“But he was very light to carry,” she continued, focused on her work, “and his father loved him so much that carrying him was no trouble. No trouble at all. And there’s 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!”

She hurried out to meet him, and little Bob came in wearing his scarf. Poor fellow, he needed it. His tea was ready for him on the stove, and they all tried to be the most helpful in serving him. Then the two young Cratchits climbed onto his knees. Each child pressed a little cheek against his face, as if to say, “Don’t mind it, father. Don’t be sad!”

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.

Bob was very cheerful with them and spoke kindly to everyone in the family. He looked at the work on the table and praised Mrs. Cratchit and the girls for working so hard and quickly. He said they would finish long before Sunday.

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

“Sunday! So you went today, Robert?” his wife said.

“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!”

“Yes, my dear,” Bob replied. “I wish you could have gone. Seeing how green the place is would have done you good. But you’ll see it often. I promised him I would walk there on Sundays. 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 suddenly broke down. He couldn’t help it. If he could have controlled himself, perhaps he and his child would not have been so close.

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.

He left the room and went upstairs to the room above. It was cheerfully lit and decorated for Christmas. A chair stood close beside the child, and there were signs that someone had been there recently. Poor Bob sat down in the chair. After thinking for a little while and calming himself, he kissed the little face. He had accepted what had happened, and he went downstairs 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.”

They gathered around the fire and talked, while the girls and their mother kept working. Bob told them about the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge’s nephew, whom he had hardly seen more than once. The nephew had met Bob in the street that day and noticed that he looked a little troubled. “Just a little down, you know,” said Bob. The nephew asked what had happened to upset him. “So I told him,” said Bob. “He is the most pleasant-spoken gentleman you ever heard. ‘I am very sorry to hear it, Mr. Cratchit,’ he said, ‘and very sorry for your good wife.’ By the way, I don’t know how he ever knew that.”

“Knew what, my dear?”

“What did you know, my dear?”

“Why, that you were a good wife,” replied Bob.

“Well, that you were a good wife,” Bob replied.

“Everybody knows that!” said Peter.

“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.”

“Very well said, my boy!” cried Bob. “I hope they do. ‘I’m very sorry for your wife,’ he said. Then he gave me his card and said, ‘If I can help you in any way, that’s where I live. Please come and see me.’ Now, it wasn’t so much what he might be able to do for us,” cried Bob, “that made this so lovely. It was his kindness. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim and shared our feelings.”

“I’m sure he’s a good soul!” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“I’m sure he’s a good person!” 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.”

“You’d be more certain of it, my dear,” Bob replied, “if you saw him and spoke to him. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he got Peter a better job. Mark my words!”

“Only hear that, Peter,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“Just listen to 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.”

“And then,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will be dating someone and setting up a home of his own.”

“Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.

“Oh, come on!” Peter replied, grinning.

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

“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’m sure none of us will forget poor Tiny Tim. We won’t, will we? And we won’t forget this first parting among us, either.”

“Never, father!” cried they all.

“Never, father!” they all cried.

“And I know,” said Bob, “I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.”

“And I know,” said Bob, “I know, my dears, that we will remember how patient and gentle he was, even though he was such a little child. When we remember that, we will not quarrel easily among ourselves and forget poor Tiny Tim.”

“No, never, father!” they all cried again.

“No, never, Father!” they all cried again.

“I am very happy,” said little Bob, “I am very happy!”

“I’m very happy,” said little Bob, “I’m 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!

Mrs. Cratchit kissed him. His daughters and the two young Cratchits kissed him too. Peter and he shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, your childlike essence came 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?”

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, “something tells me it is almost time for us to part. I know it, but I do not know how. Tell me who the dead man was that we saw.”

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

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come took him, as before, to places where businessmen gathered. Scrooge thought it was a different time, though. Indeed, these later visions seemed to follow no order, except that they were all in the Future. But the Ghost did not show Scrooge himself. In fact, the Spirit did not stop for anything. It went straight on, as if heading for the goal it now sought, until Scrooge begged it to stop for a moment.

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

“This court,” said Scrooge, “is where I work, and where I have worked for a long time. We are hurrying through it now. I see the building. Let me see what I will be in the days to come!”

The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

The Spirit stopped. The hand pointed elsewhere.

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

“The house is over there,” Scrooge exclaimed. “Why are you pointing away from it?”

The inexorable finger underwent no change.

The unyielding finger did not move.

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.

Scrooge hurried to his office window and looked inside. It was still an office, but it was not his. The furniture was different, and the person in the chair was not Scrooge. 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.

He joined it again, wondering why he had gone away and where he had gone. He stayed with it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look around before entering.

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

A churchyard. Here, beneath the ground, lay the wretched man whose name he was about to learn. It was a fitting place. Houses enclosed it, and grass and weeds grew everywhere, fed by death rather than life. Too many people had been buried there. The churchyard was fat and full, its appetite satisfied. A fitting 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.

The Spirit stood among the graves and pointed down to one. He walked toward the grave, trembling. The Phantom looked exactly as it had before, but he feared he saw a new meaning in its solemn form.

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

“Before I go closer to the stone you’re pointing at,” said Scrooge, “answer one question. Are these shadows of things that will happen, or only of things that may happen?”

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

Still, the Ghost pointed down at the grave beside it.

“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!”

“A person’s actions point to certain outcomes,” said Scrooge. “If they continue on the same path, those outcomes must follow. But if they change their path, the outcomes will change. Tell me that is true of what you are showing me!”

The Spirit was immovable as ever.

The Spirit was as unmoving as ever.

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

Scrooge crept toward it, trembling as he went. Following the pointing finger, he read his own name on the stone of the neglected grave: Ebenezer Scrooge.

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

“Am I the man who was lying on the bed?” he cried, on his knees.

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

The finger pointed from the grave to him, then back to the grave.

“No, Spirit! Oh no, no!”

“No, Spirit! Oh no, no!”

The finger still was there.

The finger was still 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!”

“Spirit!” he cried, gripping its robe tightly. “Listen to me! I am not the man I was. Without our encounters, I would have remained that man. Why show me this if I am beyond all hope!”

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

For the first time, the hand seemed to shake.

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

“Good Spirit,” he continued, falling to the ground before it. “Your nature leads you to plead for me and pity me. Tell me that I may still change the shadows you have shown me by living differently!”

The kind hand trembled.

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!”

“I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three will struggle within me. I will not shut out the lessons they teach. Oh, tell me I can wash 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.

In his agony, he seized the ghostly hand. The Spirit tried to pull it free, but he held on firmly as he pleaded. The Spirit, stronger still, pushed him away.

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

He held up his hands in one last prayer for his fate to be changed. As he did, he saw the Phantom’s hood and clothing change. They shrank and collapsed into a bedpost.