[Illustration: Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchit.]
Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned
gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap; 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 now
two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that
outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their
own; and, basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onions, they danced
about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while
he (not proud, although his collar nearly choked him) blew the fire,
until the potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to
be let out and peeled.
"What has ever kept your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit.
"And your brother, Tiny Tim? And Martha wasn't as late last Christmas
Day by half an hour!"
"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's
_such_ a goose, Martha!"
"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs.
Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet
for her with officious zeal.
"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night, and had to clear away this
morning, mother!"
"Well, never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit ye
down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"
"No, no! There's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were
everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"
So Martha hid herself, and in came 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 limb 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.
"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful,
sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever
heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the
church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to
remember, upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men
see."
Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when
he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.
His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny
Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister
to his stool beside the fire; and while Bob compounded some hot mixture
in a jug, and put it on the hob to simmer, Master Peter and the two
ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon
returned in high procession.
Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of
all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of
course--and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs.
Cratchit made the gravy hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes
with incredible vigor; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha
dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at
the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not
forgetting themselves, and, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed
spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their
turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was
said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking
slowly all along the carving knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast;
but when she did, and when the long-expected gush of 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!
Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its
tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal
admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a
sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said
with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish),
they hadn't eaten it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the
youngest Cratchits in particular were steeped in sage and onion to the
eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs.
Cratchit left the room alone--too nervous to bear witnesses--to take the
pudding up and bring it in.
Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning
out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard and
stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a supposition at which
the two young Cratchits became livid. All sorts of horrors were
supposed.
Halloa! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A
smell like a washing day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating
house and a pastry cook's next door to each other, with a laundress's
next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit
entered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding like a speckled
cannon ball, so hard and firm, smoking hot, 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 that, now the weight was off her
mind, she would confess she had her doubts about the quantity of flour.
Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it
was at all a small pudding for so large a family. It would have been
flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a
thing.
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth
swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and
considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a
shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew
round the hearth in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a
one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass,--two
tumblers and a custard cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden
goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while
the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob
proposed: "A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!"
Which all the family re[:e]choed.
"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. Bob held
his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to
keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.
_Charles Dickens._
[Illustration: Portrait of Dickens.]
* * * * *
DECLENSION, a falling downward.
COPPER, a boiler made of copper.
RALLIED, indulged in pleasant humor.
UBIQUITOUS (u b[)i]k' w[)i] t[)u]s), appearing to be everywhere at
the same time.
EKED OUT, added to; increased.
BEDIGHT, bedecked; adorned.
RE[:E]CHOED (reëchoed): What is the mark placed over the second _ë_ called,
and what does it denote?
NOTE.--"A Christmas Carol," from which the selection is taken, is
considered the best short story that Dickens wrote, and one of the best
Christmas stories ever written. The Cratchits were very poor as to the
goods of this world, but very rich in love, kindness, and contentment.
* * * * *
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