The First of the Three Spirits

When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavouring 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.

When Scrooge woke, it was so dark that he could hardly tell the window from the walls of his bedroom. He peered into the darkness with his ferret-like eyes. Then a nearby church clock chimed the four quarters, and he listened for it to strike 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!

To his great surprise, the deep bell struck six, then seven, then eight, and kept striking the hours until it reached twelve. Then it stopped. Twelve! It was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle must have gotten into its gears. Twelve!

He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve: and stopped.

He pressed the spring on his repeating watch to check the absurd clock. The watch rapidly struck twelve, then 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!”

“Why, I can’t possibly have slept through a whole day and well into the next night,” said Scrooge. “And nothing could have happened to the sun to make it look like night 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 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.

The thought alarmed him, so he scrambled out of bed and felt his way to the window. He had to rub the frost off with his dressing-gown sleeve before he could see anything. Even then, he could see very little. All he could tell was that it was still very foggy and extremely cold. There was no sound of people running back and forth and causing a great commotion. There certainly would have been if night had driven away bright daylight and taken over the world. This was a great relief. Otherwise, “three days after sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order,” and so on, would have become nothing more than a United States’ security, if there were no days to count.

Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it over and 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.

Scrooge went back to bed and thought and thought and thought it over again and again, but could make no sense of it. The more he thought, the more confused he became. And the more he tried not to think, the more he thought.

Marley’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?”

Marley’s Ghost troubled him greatly. Each time he thought it over carefully, he decided the whole thing was a dream. But his mind sprang back to where it had started, like a strong spring released. And he had to work through the same question all over again: “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, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.

Scrooge lay like this for another three quarters of an hour. Then he suddenly remembered that the Ghost had warned him of a visit when the bell struck one. He resolved to stay awake until the hour had passed. Since he was no more able to sleep than to go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest decision he could make.

The quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.

The quarter hour seemed so long that he more than once felt sure he had dozed off without realizing it and missed the clock. At last, he heard it strike.

“Ding, dong!”

“Ding, dong!”

“A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.

“A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.

“Ding, dong!”

“Ding, dong!”

“Half-past!” said Scrooge.

“Half past!” said Scrooge.

“Ding, dong!”

“Ding, dong!”

“A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.

“A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.

“Ding, dong!”

“Ding, dong!”

“The hour itself,” said Scrooge, triumphantly, “and nothing else!”

“The hour itself,” Scrooge said 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.

He spoke before the clock struck the hour. Now it struck one, deep, dull, hollow, and mournful. Light instantly flashed in the room, and his bed curtains were drawn open.

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.

A hand pulled back his bed curtains, I tell you. Not the curtains at his feet or behind him, but the ones facing him. The curtains were pulled back, and Scrooge sat up halfway. He found himself face to face with the otherworldly visitor who had pulled them back. The visitor was as close to Scrooge as I am to you now, standing in 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 emblem, 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.

It was a strange figure, like a child. Yet it was more like an old man seen through some supernatural medium. The medium made him appear to have moved away and shrunk to the size of a child. Its hair hung around its neck and down its back, white as if with age. Yet its face had no wrinkles, and its skin had the softest youthful glow. Its arms and hands were very long and muscular, as if its grip were unusually strong. Its legs and feet were delicately formed and, like its arms and hands, bare. It wore a tunic of pure white, with a shining belt of beautiful brightness around its waist. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand. In a strange contrast to that wintry symbol, its dress was trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing was the bright, clear beam of light that sprang from the top of its head. Everything about the figure could be seen by that light. The light was no doubt why it used a large snuffer as a cap in its duller moments. It now held the snuffer 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 they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever.

Even this, though, was not the strangest thing about it, as Scrooge saw when he looked more steadily. Its belt sparkled and glittered first in one place, then in another. What was light one moment was dark the next. In the same way, the figure itself kept changing in clarity. Now it had one arm, now one leg, now twenty legs. Now it was a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body. As its parts faded into the deep darkness, their outlines vanished. And just as Scrooge marveled at this, the figure would become itself again, as distinct and clear as ever.

“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge.

“Are you the Spirit I was told would come, sir?” asked Scrooge.

“I am!”

“I am!”

The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

The voice was soft and gentle. It was unusually low, as if it were far away instead of right beside him.

“Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded.

“Who and what are you?” Scrooge demanded.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Long Past?” inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.

“Long Past?” Scrooge asked, noticing how small the spirit was.

“No. Your past.”

“No. Your past.”

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.

Perhaps Scrooge could not have explained why, if anyone had been able to ask him. But he especially wanted to see the Spirit wearing his cap, and begged him to put it on.

“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!”

“What!” exclaimed the Ghost. “Would you put out my light so soon with your worldly hands? Isn’t it enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap? Those passions force me to wear it low over my forehead for years on end!”

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.

Scrooge respectfully said he had no intention of offending the Spirit. He also said he had no knowledge of ever deliberately “bonneting” the Spirit, or pulling his hat down over his eyes. Then he dared to ask what had brought the Spirit there.

“Your welfare!” said the Ghost.

“Your well-being!” 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 thinking, for it said immediately:

Scrooge said he was very grateful. But he could not help thinking that a full night’s uninterrupted sleep would have been more helpful for that purpose. The Spirit must have heard his thoughts, because it immediately said:

“Your reclamation, then. Take heed!”

“Your redemption, then. Pay attention!”

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.

As it spoke, it reached out its strong hand and gently took him by the arm.

“Rise! and walk with me!”

“Get up! 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; 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 his robe in supplication.

It would have been useless for Scrooge to protest that the weather and the hour were unsuitable for walking. His bed was warm, and the temperature was well below freezing. He was lightly dressed in slippers, a dressing gown, and a nightcap. He also had a cold. But though the grip was as gentle as a woman’s hand, he could not resist it. He rose, but when he saw the Spirit moving toward the window, he clasped the Spirit’s robe in supplication.

“I am a mortal,” Scrooge remonstrated, “and liable to fall.”

“I’m only human,” Scrooge protested, “and I could fall.”

“Bear but a touch of my hand there,” said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, “and you shall be upheld in more than this!”

“Just feel my hand touch you there,” said the Spirit, placing it on his heart, “and you will be supported through 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 snow upon the ground.

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall and stood on an open country road. Fields stretched out on both sides. The city had completely vanished. Not a trace of it remained. The darkness and mist had vanished with the city, too. It was a clear, cold winter day, with snow on 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!”

“My goodness!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands as he looked around. “I grew up 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 thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

The Spirit looked at him gently. Its touch had been light and brief, but the old man seemed to feel it still. He sensed a thousand scents floating in the air. Each one was connected to a thousand thoughts, hopes, joys, and worries he had long, long forgotten!

“Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that upon your cheek?”

“Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that on 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.

Scrooge muttered, his voice unusually unsteady, that it was a pimple. He begged the Ghost to lead him wherever he wished.

“You recollect the way?” inquired the Spirit.

“Do you remember the way?” asked the Spirit.

“Remember it!” cried Scrooge with fervour; “I could walk it blindfold.”

“Remember it!” Scrooge exclaimed passionately. “I could walk it blindfolded.”

“Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” observed the Ghost. “Let us go on.”

“Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” said the Ghost. “Let’s go on.”

They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising every 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!

They walked along the road, and Scrooge recognized every gate, post, and tree. At last, a small market town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies came trotting toward them, carrying boys on their backs. The boys called to other boys riding in country carriages and carts driven by farmers. All the boys were in high spirits and shouted to one another. The broad fields were so full of joyful sounds that the crisp air laughed to hear them!

“These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.”

“These are only shadows of things that have happened,” said the Ghost. “They are not aware 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 gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several homes! What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas! What good had it ever done to him?

The cheerful travelers came along, and Scrooge recognized and named every one of them. Why was he so overjoyed to see them? Why did his cold eyes shine and his heart leap as they passed? Why was he so glad to hear them wish each other Merry Christmas? They said it as they parted at crossroads and side roads to go to their separate homes. What did Merry Christmas mean to Scrooge? To hell with Merry Christmas! What good had it ever done him?

“The school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.”

“The school is not quite empty,” said the Ghost. “One lonely child is still there, neglected by his friends.”

Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.

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 weathercock-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 over-run 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 earthy 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 left the main road and took a familiar lane. Soon they approached a mansion of dull red brick. A small cupola stood on the roof, with a weather vane on top and a bell hanging inside. The house was large, but its fortunes had declined. The spacious service buildings were little used. Their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates decayed. Chickens clucked and strutted in the stables. Grass had overgrown the coach houses and sheds. The house had kept no more of its former grandeur inside. They entered the dreary hall and glanced through the open doors of many rooms. The rooms were large, cold, and poorly furnished. An earthy smell hung in the air, and the place was cold and bare. Somehow, it all brought to mind too many early mornings by candlelight and too little to eat.

They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed 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 used to be.

The Ghost and Scrooge crossed the hall to a door at the back of the house. The door opened before them, revealing a long, bare, gloomy room. Rows of plain wooden benches and desks made it look even barer. At one of the desks, a lonely boy was reading near a weak fire. Scrooge sat down on a bench and wept at the sight of his poor, forgotten younger self.

Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with a softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears.

Every faint echo in the house softened Scrooge’s heart and helped his tears flow more freely. So did the squeaks and scurrying of mice behind the wood panels. So did the dripping of the half-thawed drainpipe in the gloomy yard behind the house. The sighing of the bare branches of a lonely, drooping poplar had the same effect. So did the aimless swinging of an empty storehouse door. Even the clicking of the fire softened his heart and helped his tears flow.

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.

The Spirit touched his arm and pointed to his younger self, absorbed in his reading. Suddenly, a man in foreign clothes stood outside the window. He looked wonderfully real and distinct. An axe was tucked into his belt, and he was leading a donkey loaded with wood by its bridle.

“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 Valentine,” 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 business had he to be married to the Princess!”

“Why, it’s Ali Baba!” Scrooge exclaimed with delight. “It’s dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I remember! One Christmas, when that lonely child over there was left here all alone, Ali Baba did come. It was the first time, and he came just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine,” said Scrooge, “and his wild brother, Orson. There they go! And what’s his name, who was left asleep in his underwear at the Gate of Damascus. Don’t you see him? And the Sultan’s Groom, turned upside down by the Genii. There he is, standing on his head! Serves him right. I’m glad of it. What right did he have to marry the Princess!”

To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; and to see his heightened and excited face; would have been a surprise to his business friends in the city, indeed.

Scrooge spoke about such things with all the earnestness he could muster, in an extraordinary voice somewhere between laughter and tears. His face was flushed and excited. Hearing and seeing him like that would certainly have surprised his business friends in the city.

“There’s the Parrot!” cried Scrooge. “Green body and 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!”

“There’s the Parrot!” cried Scrooge. “He has a green body and a yellow tail, with something like a lettuce growing out of his head. There he is! He called him Poor Robin Crusoe when he came home again after sailing around 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.

Then his mood changed with a speed that was very unlike him. Feeling sorry for his younger self, he said, “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.”

“I wish,” Scrooge muttered. He wiped his eyes with his cuff, put his hand in his pocket, and looked around. “But it’s too late now.”

“What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

“What’s 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.”

“Nothing,” said Scrooge. “Nothing. A boy was singing a Christmas carol at my door last night. I wish I had given him something. That’s all.”

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so, “Let us see another Christmas!”

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully and waved its hand, saying, “Let’s 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.

At those words, Scrooge’s younger self grew older, and the room became a little darker and dirtier. The panels shrank and the windows cracked. Pieces of plaster fell from the ceiling, revealing the bare wooden laths beneath. But Scrooge knew no more than you do about how this happened. He only knew that it was all just as it should be. Everything had happened this way. There he was, alone again, while all the other boys had gone home for the merry holidays.

He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced anxiously towards the door.

He was no longer reading but pacing back and forth in despair. Scrooge looked at the Ghost and shook his head sadly. Then he glanced anxiously at 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.”

It opened, and a little girl, much younger than the boy, rushed in. She put her arms around his neck, kissed him again and again, and called him her “Dear, dear brother.”

“I have come to bring you home, dear brother!” said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. “To bring you home, home, home!”

“I’ve come to take you home, dear brother!” said the child. She clapped her tiny hands and bent down laughing. “To take you home, home, home!”

“Home, little Fan?” returned the boy.

“Home, little Fan?” the boy replied.

“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.”

“Yes!” said the child, bursting with joy. “Home, for good. Home, forever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be that home is like Heaven! One lovely night, he spoke so gently to me as I was going to bed. So I wasn’t afraid to ask him once more if you could come home. He said yes, you could, and sent me in a coach to bring you. And you’re going to be a man!” said the child, opening her eyes wide. “You’re never coming back here. But first, we’ll be together all through Christmas and have the merriest time in all the world.”

“You are quite a woman, little Fan!” exclaimed the boy.

“You’re quite a woman, little Fan!” the boy exclaimed.

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 loth to go, accompanied her.

She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head. But she was too small, so she laughed again and stood on tiptoe to hug him. Then, in her childish eagerness, she began to pull him toward the door. He was happy to go with her.

A terrible voice in the hall cried, “Bring down Master Scrooge’s box, there!” and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster 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 terrestrial 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, 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.

A terrible voice in the hall cried, “Bring down Master Scrooge’s trunk, there!” The schoolmaster himself appeared in the hall. He glared at Master Scrooge with fierce condescension, then shook his hand, putting him in a dreadful state of mind. He led Scrooge and his sister into the coldest, most well-like old best parlor anyone had ever seen. The maps on the walls and the globes of the heavens and the earth in the windows were waxy with cold. There he brought out a decanter of strangely light wine and a block of strangely heavy cake. He served the young people portions of these treats. At the same time, he sent a thin servant to offer the postboy a glass of “something.” The postboy said he thanked the gentleman, but if it was from the same tap he had tasted before, he would rather not. By now, Master Scrooge’s trunk had been tied to the top of the carriage. The children were only too happy to say goodbye to the schoolmaster. They climbed into the carriage and rode merrily down the curved garden drive. The quick wheels sent frost and snow flying like spray from the dark leaves of the evergreens.

“Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered,” said the Ghost. “But she had a large heart!”

“She was always so delicate that a breath could have withered her,” said the Ghost. “But she had a big heart!”

“So she had,” cried Scrooge. “You’re right. I will not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!”

“So she did,” cried Scrooge. “You’re right. I won’t deny it, Spirit. God forbid!”

“She died a woman,” said the Ghost, “and had, as I think, children.”

“She died as an adult,” said the Ghost, “and I think she had children.”

“One child,” Scrooge returned.

“One child,” Scrooge replied.

“True,” said the Ghost. “Your nephew!”

“That’s true,” said the Ghost. “Your nephew!”

Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, “Yes.”

Scrooge seemed uneasy 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.

Although they had only just left the school behind, they were now on the busy streets of a city. Shadowy pedestrians passed back and forth, while shadowy carts and coaches fought for space. The city had all the noise and commotion of a real one. The shop displays made it clear that it was Christmas time here again too. But it was evening, and the streets were lit up.

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.

The Ghost stopped at a warehouse door and asked Scrooge if he recognized it.

“Know it!” said Scrooge. “Was I apprenticed here!”

“Know it!” said Scrooge. “I was an apprentice 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:

They went in. An old gentleman in a Welsh wig was sitting behind a very high desk. If he had been two inches taller, he would have hit his head on the ceiling. When Scrooge saw him, he cried out in great excitement:

“Why, it’s old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it’s Fezziwig alive again!”

“Why, it’s old Fezziwig! Bless his heart. Fezziwig is 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, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:

Old Fezziwig put down his pen and looked up at the clock. It was seven o'clock. He rubbed his hands and adjusted his roomy waistcoat. He laughed all over, from his shoes to the part of his head thought to express kindness. Then he called out in a comfortable, smooth, rich, hearty, cheerful voice:

“Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!”

“Hey, there! Ebenezer! Dick!”

Scrooge’s former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-’prentice.

Scrooge’s younger self, now a young man, came in briskly with his fellow apprentice.

“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!”

“Dick Wilkins, of course!” Scrooge said to the Ghost. “Oh, yes. There he is. Dick was very fond of me. Poor Dick! Oh, dear!”

“Yo ho, my boys!” said Fezziwig. “No more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let’s have the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, “before a man can say Jack Robinson!”

“Hey, boys!” said Fezziwig. “No more work tonight. It’s Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let’s get the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig, clapping his hands sharply. “Let’s do it in no time!”

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.

You wouldn’t believe how those two fellows went at it! They rushed into the street with the shutters. One, two, three, and they had the shutters in place. Four, five, six, and they barred and pinned them. Seven, eight, nine, and they were back before you could have counted to twelve, panting like racehorses.

“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!”

“Hilli-ho!” cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk with remarkable agility. “Clear the space, boys, and let’s make plenty 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.

Clear everything away! With old Fezziwig watching, there was nothing they wouldn’t or couldn’t clear away. It was done in a minute. Everything that could be moved was packed off, as if it had been dismissed from public life forever. The floor was swept and sprinkled with water, the lamps were adjusted, and fuel was piled onto the fire. The warehouse became as cozy, warm, dry, and bright a ballroom as anyone could wish to see on 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 stomach-aches. 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. 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, anyhow and everyhow. 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 reappearance, 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.

A fiddler came in with a music book and climbed up to the high desk, turning it into an orchestra. He tuned his fiddle with a sound like fifty stomachaches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one huge, solid smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, radiant and lovable. In came the six young admirers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women who worked in the business. In came the housemaid with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook with her brother’s close friend, the milkman. In came the boy from across the street. People suspected that his master did not give him enough to eat. He tried to hide behind the girl from two doors down. Her mistress was known to have pulled her ears. They all came in, one after another. Some came shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling. They all came in, any way and every way. Off they all went, twenty couples dancing at once. They joined hands, went halfway around, then back the other way. They went down the middle and back up again. They went round and round, forming affectionate groups of various kinds. The old lead couple always ended up in the wrong place. The new lead couple started off again as soon as they reached the top. At last, they were all lead couples, with no couple at the bottom to help them! When that happened, old Fezziwig clapped his hands to stop the dance and cried, “Well done!” The fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, provided especially for that purpose. But he scorned rest. When he came up again, he immediately started playing, though there were no dancers yet. He played as if the other fiddler had been carried home exhausted on a shutter. He played as if he were a brand-new man, determined to outdo the other fiddler completely 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 was 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 Fezziwig 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.

There were more dances, party games with forfeits, and more dances. There was cake and negus, a warm wine punch. There was a great piece of cold roast meat and a great piece of cold boiled meat. There were mince pies and plenty of beer. But the highlight of the evening came after the roast and boiled meat. The fiddler struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley.” He was a clever fellow, mind you! He knew his business better than you or I could have told him! Then old Fezziwig stepped forward to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. They were the leading couple, too, and had their work cut out for them. There were twenty-three or twenty-four pairs of partners. These were people not to be trifled with. They would dance, and had no idea of merely walking.

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 have become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, 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.

But if there had been twice as many, or even four times as many, old Fezziwig could have matched them. So could Mrs. Fezziwig. As for her, she was worthy of being his partner in every sense of the word. If that’s not high praise, tell me something higher, and I’ll use it. Fezziwig’s calves seemed to give off light. They shone like moons throughout the dance. At any moment, you couldn’t have predicted what his calves would do next. Old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig went through the whole dance: forward and back, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsy, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back to your place. Then Fezziwig “cut” so skillfully that he seemed to wink with his legs. He landed on 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 of 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.

When the clock struck eleven, the party came to an end. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig stood on either side of the door. As each person left, they shook hands with them and wished them a Merry Christmas. When everyone but the two apprentices had left, Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig did the same for them. The cheerful voices faded away, and the boys were left to go to bed. Their beds were under a counter in the back room of the 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 remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.

All this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his mind. His heart and soul were in the scene, with his younger self. He confirmed everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and felt the strangest excitement. Only now did his younger self and Dick turn their bright faces away. Then Scrooge remembered the Ghost and realized it was looking straight at him. The light on its head was burning very brightly.

“A small matter,” said the Ghost, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“Such a small thing,” said the Ghost, “to make these foolish people so grateful.”

“Small!” echoed Scrooge.

“Small!” Scrooge repeated.

The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,

The Spirit motioned for him to listen to the two apprentices, who were praising Fezziwig with all their hearts. After he listened, the Spirit 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?”

“Why! Isn't it? He has spent only a few pounds of your mortal money, perhaps three or four. 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 unhappy; 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.”

“That’s not it,” said Scrooge, angered by the remark. Without realizing it, he spoke like his former self, not the man he had become. “That’s not it, Spirit. He has the power to make us happy or unhappy. He can make our work easy or burdensome, a pleasure or a chore. Suppose his power lies in words and looks, in things too small and slight to count. What of it? The happiness he gives is just as great as if it cost a fortune.”

He felt the Spirit’s glance, and stopped.

He felt the Spirit look at him and stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked the Ghost.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Ghost.

“Nothing particular,” said Scrooge.

“Nothing particular,” said Scrooge.

“Something, I think?” the Ghost insisted.

“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.”

“No,” said Scrooge, “No. I wish I could say a few words to my clerk right 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.

His younger self turned down the lamps as he spoke the wish. Scrooge and the Ghost were once again standing side by side outdoors.

“My time grows short,” observed the Spirit. “Quick!”

“My time is running out,” said 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.

This was not addressed to Scrooge or anyone he could see, but it had an immediate effect. Scrooge saw himself again. He was older now, a man in the prime of life. His face did not yet have the harsh, rigid lines it would have in later years. But it had begun to show signs of worry and greed. His eyes moved eagerly, greedily, and restlessly. They revealed 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.

He was not alone. He sat beside a beautiful young woman wearing a mourning dress. Tears in her eyes sparkled in the light from the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“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.”

“It matters little,” she said softly. “To you, very little. Another idol has taken my place. If it can cheer and comfort you in the future, as I would have tried to do, I have no fair reason to grieve.”

“What Idol has displaced you?” he rejoined.

“What idol has taken your place?” he replied.

“A golden one.”

“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 pursuit of wealth!”

“This is how fairly the world treats people!” he said. “It is harder on poverty than on anything else. Yet it claims to condemn nothing more harshly than the pursuit 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?”

“You fear the world too much,” she answered gently. “All your other hopes have become one hope: to be safe from the world’s cruel judgment of poverty. I have seen your nobler ambitions fall away one by one, until the desire for wealth consumes you. Haven’t I?”

“What then?” he retorted. “Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you.”

“So what?” he replied. “Even if I have become much wiser, so what? My feelings toward you have not changed.”

She shook her head.

She shook her head.

“Am I?”

“Am I?”

“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.”

“Our agreement was made a long time ago. We were both poor then, and content to be poor until, in time, we could improve our fortunes through patient hard work. You have changed. When we made the agreement, you were a different man.”

“I was a boy,” he said impatiently.

“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.”

“Your own feelings tell you that you have changed,” she replied. “I have not. What promised happiness when our hearts were one brings misery now that our hearts are divided. I will not tell you how often or how painfully I have thought about this. It is enough that I have thought about it and can release you.”

“Have I ever sought release?”

“Have I ever asked to be released?”

“In words. No. Never.”

“In words. No. Never.”

“In what, then?”

“Then in what?”

“In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything 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!”

“Your nature has changed. Your spirit has changed. You live in a different atmosphere, with a different hope as your main goal. Everything that made my love worth anything to you has changed. If this had never been between us,” said the girl, looking at him gently but steadily, “tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Oh, no!”

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, “You think not.”

Despite himself, he seemed to admit that the suggestion was fair. But he struggled to say, “You don't think so.”

“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.”

“I would gladly think differently if I could,” she answered. “Heaven knows I would! When I have learned a truth like this, I know how powerful and impossible to resist it must be. But if you were free today, tomorrow, or yesterday, could even I believe you would choose a girl with no dowry? Even when you confide in her, you measure everything by profit. And if you did choose her, you would be betraying your one guiding principle for a moment. Do I not know that you would surely repent and regret it afterward? I do, and I release you. I do so with a full heart, for love of the man you once were.”

He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed.

He was about to speak, but she turned her head away from him and continued.

“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!”

“You may feel pain over this. The memory of our past makes me half hope you will. But in a very short time, you will gladly put the memory aside. You will think of it as a worthless dream that you were fortunate to wake from. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!”

She left him, and they parted.

She left him, and they went their separate ways.

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, “show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, “show me no more! Take me home. Why do you enjoy torturing me?”

“One shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.

“One more shadow!” exclaimed the Ghost.

“No more!” cried Scrooge. “No more. I don’t wish to see it. Show me no more!”

“No more!” Scrooge cried. “No more. I don’t want to see it. Don’t show me any more!”

But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.

But the relentless Ghost held both his arms and forced him to watch 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 believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly 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 expected 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.

They were in another place now, in a different scene. The room was not very large or beautiful, but it was full of comfort. Near the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl. She looked so much like the girl Scrooge had just seen that he thought she was the same person. Then he saw her sitting across from her daughter, now a lovely middle-aged woman. The room was incredibly noisy. There were more children than Scrooge, in his troubled state of mind, could count. And unlike the famous group in the poem, these were not forty children behaving like one. Each child was behaving like forty. The result was unbelievably chaotic, but no one seemed to mind. On the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily and enjoyed it very much. The daughter soon joined in the games, and the young bandits robbed her ruthlessly. What wouldn’t I have given to be one of them! Though I could never have been so rude, no, no! Not for all the wealth in the world would I have crushed her braided hair and pulled it down. And as for her precious little shoe, God bless my soul, I wouldn’t have pulled it off to save my life. Those bold young children playfully put their arms around her waist, but I couldn’t have done that. I would have expected my arm to grow around her waist as punishment and never straighten again. And yet I would have dearly liked, I admit, to touch her lips. I would have liked to ask her questions so that she would open them. I would have liked to look at the lashes of her lowered eyes without making her blush. I would have liked to loosen her waves of hair, when even an inch of it would be a priceless keepsake. In short, I confess that I would have liked a child’s slightest freedom, 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 the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then 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-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round his neck, pommel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received! The terrible announcement that 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.

But then a knock was heard at the door, and everyone rushed toward it. She was swept along at the center of a flushed, boisterous group, laughing, her dress plundered. They arrived just in time to greet the father, who came home with a man loaded down with Christmas toys and presents. Then came the shouting and struggling, and the attack on the defenseless porter! The children used chairs as ladders to climb him and dive into his pockets. They snatched brown paper packages from him and held tight to his cravat. They hugged him around the neck, pounded his back, and kicked his legs in unstoppable affection! Each package, as it was unwrapped, brought shouts of wonder and delight! Then came the terrible announcement that the baby had been caught putting a doll’s frying pan into his mouth. He was also strongly suspected of having swallowed a toy turkey glued to a wooden platter! What immense relief when the alarm proved false! The joy, gratitude, and ecstasy were all equally indescribable. In time, the children and their excitement made their way out of the parlor and up the stairs, one step at a time. At the top of the house, they went to bed and finally settled down.

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.

Scrooge watched more closely than ever. The master of the house sat down by his own fire with his daughter and her mother. His daughter leaned lovingly against him. Scrooge thought that he might have had such a daughter himself, just as graceful and full of promise. She might have called him father and brought springtime to the bleak winter of his life. At the thought, his vision grew very dim indeed.

“Belle,” said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.”

“Belle,” the husband said, turning to his wife with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.”

“Who was it?”

“Who was it?”

“Guess!”

“Guess!”

“How can I? Tut, don’t I know?” she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. “Mr. Scrooge.”

“How can I? Oh, don’t I know?” she added at once, laughing along with him. “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.”

“It was Mr. Scrooge. I passed his office window, and the office was still open. He had a candle inside, so I could hardly help seeing him. I hear his partner is close to death, and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I believe.”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.”

“Spirit!” Scrooge said in a broken voice, “take me away 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!”

“I told you these were shadows of things that happened in the past,” said the Ghost. “Do not blame me for what they are!”

“Remove me!” Scrooge exclaimed, “I cannot bear it!”

“Take me away!” Scrooge exclaimed. “I can’t 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 fragments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.

He turned on the Ghost and saw that it was looking at him. Strangely, its face held fragments of all the faces it had shown him. Then he wrestled with the Ghost.

“Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!”

“Leave me alone! Take me back. Stop haunting me!”

In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed 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.

During the struggle, Scrooge noticed that the Ghost’s light was burning high and bright. If it could be called a struggle, the Ghost showed no visible resistance and was undisturbed by Scrooge’s efforts. Scrooge dimly sensed that the light had something to do with the Ghost’s power over him. So he grabbed the extinguisher-cap and suddenly pressed it down over the Ghost’s 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.

The Spirit sank beneath the extinguisher, so that it covered the Spirit completely. But though Scrooge pressed it down with all his strength, he could not hide the light. It streamed out from beneath the extinguisher in an unbroken flood across the ground.

He was conscious of being exhausted, 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.

He knew he was exhausted and could not resist his drowsiness. He also knew he was in his own bedroom. He gave the cap one last squeeze, then his grip relaxed. He barely had time to stagger to bed before he fell into a deep sleep.