A Christmas Carol: Part Two

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I'm David Suchet, and from the Noiser Podcast Network, this is Charles Dickens' Ghost Stories.

In the last episode, part one of A Christmas Carol, miserly businessman Ebenezer Scrooge was visited by the first of three spirits, the ghost of Christmas past. The spirit... took Scrooge to witness a jolly Christmas party held by his old employer, Mr. Fezziwig, and then to the moment when his one-time fiancé called off their engagement after realizing he had come to love money.

more than her. Overcome with regret, Scrooge begged the spirit to show him no more. He was deposited back home in his bed, safe and sound. But Scrooge knows there's more to come. The ghost of his dead partner, Jacob Marley, has warned him to expect two more visitations before Christmas. This is the second. and final part of A Christmas Carol.

Scrooge awoke in his bedroom. There was no doubt about that. But it and his own adjoining sitting-room, into which he shuffled in his slippers, attracted by a great light there, had undergone... a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green that it looked like a perfect grove.

The leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if many little mirrors had been scattered there. And such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney as that petriple... faction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time or Marley's or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped upon the floor to form a kind of throne were turkeys. Geese, game, brawn, great joints of meat, suckling pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince pies, plum puddings.

barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth cakes, and great bowls of punch. In easy state upon this couch there sat a giant, glorious to see, who bore a glowing torch in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and who raised it high to shed its light on Scrooge as he came. peeping round the door. Come in! Come in! And know me better, man. Find the ghost of Christmas present.

Look upon me. You've never seen the light of me before. Never? Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family, meaning that I am very young. My elder brother's born in these late years, pursued the phantom. No, I don't think I have. No, I'm afraid I have not. Have you had many brother's spirit?

More than 1800. Oh, that's a tremendous family to provide for. Spirit, conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion and I... I learnt a lesson which is working now. Tonight, if you have ought to teach me, let me profit by it. Touch my robe. Scrooge did as he was told. He held it fast. The room and all its contents all vanished instantly.

and they stood in the city streets upon a snowy Christmas morning. Scrooge and the ghosts passed on, invisible, straight to Scrooge's clerks. And on the threshold of the door, the spirit smiled and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think of that. Bob had but fifteen. Bob, a week, himself. He pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name. And yet the ghost of Christmas present.

blessed his four-roomed house. Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Tratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly. in a twice-turned gown, brave in ribbons, which are cheap, and make goodly show for sixpence. And she laid the cloth assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons. while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar.

Bob's private property conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day. Into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired. and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable park. And now, two smaller cratchets. Boy and girl came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they'd smelt the goose and known it for their own.

And basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he, not proud, although his collars nearly choked him, blew the fire until the slow potato, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to be let up and... Peel. What has ever got your precious father, then? Said Mrs. Cratchit. And your brother, Tiny Tim. And Martha weren't as late last Christmas Day by half an hour. Here's Martha, Mother.

said a girl, appearing as she spoke. Oh, here's Martha, mother! cried the two young Cratchits. Hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha! Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are, said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her. Well, we had a great deal of work to finish up last night, replied the girl. and had to clear away this morning mother well never mind so long as you're come

said Mrs. Cratchit. Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm lord bless ye. Oh, no, no, oh, there's father coming, cried the two young Cratchits who were everywhere at once. Hide, Martha, hide. So Martha hid herself. And in came little Bob the father, with at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe. hanging down before him, and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed to look seasonable, and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch.

and had his limbs supported by an iron frame. Why, where's our Martha? cried Bob Cratchit, looking round. Not coming, said Mrs. Cratchit. Not... Coming, said Bob with a sudden declension in his high spirits, for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church and had come home rampant. Not coming upon Christmas Day. Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke.

So she came out prematurely from behind the closet door and ran into his arms while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim and bore him off to the wash house that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper. And how did little Tim behave? asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content. Oh, as good as gold, said Bob, and...

Better. Somehow. Oh, he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me. Coming home. that he hoped the people saw him in the church because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day who made lame beggars walk and... blind men, see. Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire. And while Bob, turning up his cuffs, as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby, compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons and stirred it round and round.

and put it on the hog to simmer. Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy, ready beforehand in a little saucepan, hissing hot. Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor.

Miss Belinda sweetened up the applesauce. Martha dusted the hot plates. Bob took tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table. The two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be held. At last, the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit...

looking slowly all along the carving knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast. But when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth... One murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried, Hurrah! There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness.

with the themes of universal admiration, eked out by... applesauce and mashed potatoes. It was a sufficient dinner for the whole family. Indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight, surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish, they hadn't...

yet everyone had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular was steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows. But now... The plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone, too nervous to bear witnesses, to take the pudding up and bring it in. Suppose it should not be done enough? Suppose it should break in turning out? Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard and stolen it while they were merry with the goose?

A supposition at which the two young crudges became livid. All sorts of horrors were supposed. Hello. A great deal of steam. The pudding was out of the cup. A smell like a washing day. That was the cloth. A smell like... An eating house and a pastry cooks next door to each other, with the laundresses next door to that. That was the pudding. In half a minute, Mrs. Cratchit entered. flushed but smiling proudly with the pudding like a speckled cannonball so hard and firm blazing in half

of half a quartern of ignited brandy and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said, But now the weight was of her mind. She would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all.

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Check. Cozy vibes? Double check. And right now it's deal season. Get up to 50% off site-wide for Black Friday and Cyber Monday. Take your couple game to the next level with MeUndies Match Me. To get deals up to 50% off, go to MeUndies.com slash ACAST. Enter promo code ACAST. That's meandies.com slash ACAST. Code ACAST. At last. The dinner was all done. The cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted and considered perfect.

Apples and oranges were put upon the table and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth in what Bob Cratchit called a circle. And at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers and a custard cup without a handle. These held the hot stuff from the jack, however, as well as golden goblets would have done, and Bob served it out with beaming looks while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and crackled.

Then Bob proposed, A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us. Which all the family re-echoed. God bless us. Everyone, said Tiny Tim, last of all. He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his. as if he loved the child and wished to keep him by his side and dreaded that he might be taken from him. Mr. Scrooge, said Bob. Scrooge?

raised his head speedily on hearing his own name. I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the feast. The founder of the feast indeed, cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it. My dear, said Bob, the children, Christmas Day. It should be Christmas Day, I'm sure.

said she, on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr Scrooge. You know he is, Robert. Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow, my dear. was Bob's mild answer. Christmas Day. Oh, I'll drink his health for your sake of the days, said Mrs. Cratchit. Not for his.

Long life to him, a merry Christmas and a happy new year. He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt. The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness in it. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he didn't care tuppence for it. Scrooge was the ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes. After it passed away, they were ten times merrier than before.

from the mere relief of Scrooge the baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter. which would bring in, if obtained, full five-and-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a man of business, and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberating what...

particular investments he should favor when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed tomorrow morning for a good long rest, tomorrow being a holiday. She passed at home. Also, how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord was much about as tall as Peter.

at which Peter pulled up his collar so high that you couldn't have seen his head if you had been there. All this time, the chestnuts and the jug went round and round. And by and by they had a song about a lost child travelling in the snow from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice and sang it very well indeed. Little boy may you find your way home. There was nothing of high mark in this.

They were not a handsome family. They were not well-dressed. Their shoes were far from being waterproof. Their clothes were scanty. And Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside. of a pawnbroker's. But they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time. And when they faded and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the spirit's torture parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

It was a great surprise to Scrooge as this scene vanished to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to recognize it. as his own nephews, and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room with the spirit standing smiling by his side and looking at the same nephew. It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour.

When Scrooge's nephew laughed, Scrooge's niece by marriage laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends, being not a bit behindhand, laughed out lustily. He said that Christmas was a humbug as I live, cried Scrooge's nephew. He believed it too. More shame for him, Fred, said Scrooge's niece indignantly. Bless those women, they never do anything by halves. They are always in earnest. She was very pretty, exceedingly pretty, with a dimpled, surprised-looking capital face.

a ripe little mouth that seemed made to be kissed, as no doubt it was. all kinds of good little dots about her chin that melted into one another when she laughed and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head altogether She was, what you would have called, provoking, but satisfactory too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory. Oh, he's a comical old fellow, said Scrooge's nephew. That's the truth.

and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him. Who suffers by his ill whims? Himself always. Here he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us. What's the consequence? He don't lose much of a dinner. Indeed.

I think he loses a very good dinner, interrupted Scrooge's niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had just had dinner. and with the dessert upon the table were clustered round the fire by lamplight. Well, I'm very glad to hear it, said Scrooge's nephew, because I haven't any great faith in these young housekeepers. What do you say, Topper?

Topper clearly had his eye on one of Scrooge's niece's sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast who had no right to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat? Scrooge's niece's sister, the plump one with the lace tucker, not the one with the roses, blushed. After tea, they had some music.

for they were a musical family and knew what they were about when they sung a glee or catch, I can assure you, especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one and never swell the large veins in his forehead. or get red in the face over it. But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After a while they played at forfeits, for it's good to be children sometimes and never better than at Christmas when its mighty founder...

was a child himself. There was first a game at blind man's buff, though, and I no more believe Topper was really blinded than I believe he had eyes in his boots. Because the way in which he went after that plump sister in the lace tucker was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking down the fire irons, tumbling over the chairs.

bumping up against the piano, smothering himself among the curtains. Wherever she went, there went he. He always knew where the plump sister was. He wouldn't catch... anybody else. If you'd fallen up against him, as some of them did, and stood there, he would have made a feint of endeavouring to seize you, which would have been an affront to your understanding, and would instantly have sidled off in the direction.

of the plump sister. Oh, here's a new game, said Scrooge. One half-hour spirit, only one. It was a game called Yes and No. where Scrooge's nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what. He only answering to their questions, yes or no, as the case was. The fire of questioning to which he was exposed elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal. an animal that growled and grunted sometimes.

and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse. Or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. And every new question put to him. This nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter and was so inexpressibly tickled that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp.

At last, the plump sister cried out. I've found it out. I know what it is, Fred. I know what it is. What is it? cried Fred. It's your uncle. which it certainly was. Admiration was the sentiment, though some objected that the reply to, is it a bear, ought to have been, yes. Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart that he would have drank to the unconscious company in an inaudible speech.

But the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last words spoken by his nephew, and he and the spirit were again upon their travels. Much they saw. And far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end. The spirits stood beside sick beds, and they were cheerful. On foreign lands, and they were close at home. By struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope. By poverty, and it was rich.

in almshouse, hospital, and jail, in miseries, every refuge where vain man, in his little brief authority, had not made fast the door and barred the spirit out. He left his blessing and taught Scrooge his precepts. Suddenly, as they stood together in an open place, the bell struck twelve. looked about him for the ghost and saw it no more. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn phantom.

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The phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee. For in the air through which this spirit moved, it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible, save one outstretched. For the spirit neither spoke nor moved. I'm in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas yet to come.

Ghost of the future, I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But 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. But when will you not speak to me? It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them. Well, lead on, lead on. The night is waning fast, and it's precious time to me, I know. Lead on, spirit.

They scarcely seemed to enter the city, for the city rather seemed to spring up about them. But there they were in the heart of it, on change amongst the merchants. The spirit stopped beside one little knot of businessmen. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk. No! said a great fat man with a monstrous chin. Oh, I don't know much about it either way, but I only know he's dead. Oh, when did he die? inquired another.

Er, last night, I believe. But why, what was the matter with him? I thought he'd never die. Oh, God no, sir, said the first with a yawn. What has he done with his money? asked a red-faced gentleman. I haven't heard, said the man with the large chin. Company, perhaps. Well, he hasn't left it to me, that's all I know. Bye-bye. Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the spirit should attach importance to conversation apparently so trivial.

But feeling assured that it must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be. It 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. 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 he thought and hoped he saw his newborn resolutions carried out in this.

They left this busy scene and went into an obscure part of town, to a low shop where iron, old rags, bottles of bones and greasy offal were bought. A grey-haired rascal of great age sat smoking his pipe. 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.

After a short period of blank astonishment in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh. Let a 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.

Yeah, well, you couldn't have met in a better place. You were made free of it long ago, you know. And the other two ain't strangers. Anyway, what have you got to sell? What have you got to sell? Half a minute's patience, Joe, and you shall see. Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did. Who's the worst for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose.

Mrs. Dilber, whose manner was remarkable for general propitiation, said, No, indeed, ma'am. Well, if he wanted to keep them after he was dead, a wicked old screw, 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 stare alone by himself. Well, that's the truest word that ever was spoken. It's a judgment on him. I wish it was a little heavier judgment.

And it should have been. You may depend on it. If I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe. Let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first not afraid to let them see it. Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening the bundle and dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff. Here, what do you call it? Bait curtains.

Ah, bed curtains. Don't drop that oil upon the blankets now. Eh, blankets. Well, who else's do you think? He isn't likely to take cold without them, I dare say. 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 by dressing him up in it if it hadn't have been for me.

Scrooge listened to this dialogue with horror. Spirit, I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way now. Oh, merciful heaven, what is this? The scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bear. uncurtained bed. A pale light rising in the outer air fell straight upon this bed, and on it, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this bed. plundered, unknown man. Spirit, let me see some tenderness connected with the death, or this...

The dark chamber spirit will be forever present to me.

The ghost conducted him to poor Bob Cratchit's house, the dwelling he had visited before, and found the mother and the children seated round the fire. Quiet, very quiet. The noisy little cratchits were as still as statues in one corner and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged in needlework, but surely they were very... And he took a child and set him in the midst of them. Where had Scrooge heard those words? He'd not dreamed them.

The boy must have read them out as he and the spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on? The mother laid her work upon the table and put her hand up to her face. The colour hurts my eyes, she said. The colour? Poor tiny Tim. They're better now again. It makes them weak by candlelight. And I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comes home to the world. It must be near his time. Past it, rather.

Peter answered, shutting up his book. But I think he has walked a little slower than he used these last few evenings, Mother. Well, I've known him walk with... Well, I've known him walk with Tiny Tim. upon his shoulder very fast indeed. And so have I, cried Peter. Often. And so have I, exclaimed another. So had all. But he was very light to carry, and his father loved him so that it was no trouble. No trouble. Oh, look. And there is your father at the door.

She hurried out to meet him, and little Bob, in his comforter, oh, he had need of it, poor fellow, came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob. and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid each child a little cheek against his face, as if they said, Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved. Bob was very cheerful with them and spoke pleasantly to all the family.

He looked at the work upon the table and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said. Sunday? Where you went? Today, then, Robert? 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. 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.

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 with the covered face whom we saw lying dead. The ghost of Christmas yet to come. conveyed him to a dismal, wretched, ruinous churchyard. The spirit stood among the graves and pointed down to one.

Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you pointed, answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will be? Or are they shadows of the things that may be only? Still the ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood. Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends to which if persevered in they must lead, but if the courses be departed from... The ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me. The spirit was immovable as ever. Scrooge crept towards it.

trembling as he went, and following the finger read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge. Am I that man who lay upon the bed? No spirit, oh no, no spirit, 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'm past all hope? Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life. For the first time.

The kind hand faltered. I will honor 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. Go tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone.

Holding up his hands in one last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrank, collapsed, and dwindled down. into a bedpost. Yes, and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own. The room was his own. Best and happiest of all, The time before him was his own to make amends in. He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard.

Running to the window, he opened it and put out his head. No fog, no mist, no night. Clear, bright, stirring, golden day. And what's today? cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. Eh? What's today, my fine fellow? Today? Why,

It's Christmas Day. It's Christmas Day. I haven't missed... Hello, my fine fellow. Hello. Do you know the poulterers in the next street that one at the corner? I should hope I did. Oh, an intelligent boy, a remarkable boy. Do you know whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not the little prize turkey, the big one. What, the one as big as me? Oh, what a delightful boy. Oh, it's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck. It's hanging there now. Is it? Go and buy it.

Rooker! exclaimed the boy. No, no, no, I'm in earnest. Go by and tell her to bring it here that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes. I'll give you half a crown. The boy was off like a shot. I'll send it to Bob Cratchits. He shan't know who sends it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be.

The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write it he did somehow, and went downstairs to open the street door ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. Oh, it was a turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped him short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing wax. Scrooge dressed himself.

all in his best, and at last got out into the streets. The people were, by this time, pouring forth as he had seen them with the ghost of Christmas present. and walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded everyone with a delighted smile.

He looked so irresistibly pleasant in a word that three or four good-humored fellows said, Good morning, sir. A merry Christmas to you. And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, these were the blithest in his ears.

In the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephew's house. He passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash and did it! Is your master home, my dear? said Scrooge to the girl. Yes, sir. But where is he, my love? Well, he's in the dining room, sir, with his mistress. But he knows me. said Scrooge with his hand already on the dining room lock. I'll go in here, my dear. Fred! Why, bless my soul, cried Fred. Who's that? It's I.

Your Uncle Scrooge. I've come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred? Let him in? It's a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did everyone when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity. Wonderful! Happiness! But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there!

If he'd only be there first and catch Bob Cratchit coming late, that was the thing he'd set his heart upon. And he did it. The clock struck nine. No, Bob. A quarter past. No, Bob. Bob was full. Eight. Eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open that he might see him come into the tank. Bob's hat was off. Before he opened the door, his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy, driving away with his pen as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock. Hello.

growled Scrooge in his accustomed voice as near as he could feign it. What do you mean by coming here at this time of day? I'm very sorry, sir. I am behind my time. You are? Yes, I think you are. Step this way, if you please. But it's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir. Now I'll tell you what, my friend. I'm not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore... Scrooge continued, leaping from his stool and giving Bob such a...

Big in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the tank again. And therefore... I'm going to raise your salary. Bob trembled and got a little nearer to the ruler. A Merry Christmas, Bob, said Scrooge. with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I've given you for many a year.

I'll raise your salary and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon over a Christmas bowl of...

Smoking bishop, Bob. Now make up the fires and buy a second coal scuttle before you dot another I, Bob Cratchit. Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all and infinitely more. And to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master. and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world. Some people loved to see the alteration in him.

But his own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him. He had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived in that respect upon the total abstinence principle. ever afterwards, and it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us. and all of us. And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, everyone.

In the next episode, we bring you Dickens' most chilling ghost story of all, The Signal Man. Alone at night in his signal box, at the edge of a dark, dank tunnel. A solitary railway worker begins to see premonitions of death. A fatal accident is speeding towards him. That's next time. on Charles Dickens' ghost stories. Can't wait a week until the next episode? For more information or click... The link in the episode description.

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