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 into 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 before 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 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 (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
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!
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, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by the
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 ate it
all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the younger 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 witness--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.
Hallo! 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 pastrycook'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, 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 that now the weight was off 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 a small pudding for a large 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-echoed.
"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
EMBELLISHMENT
By Jacob Abbott
One day Beechnut, who had been ill, was taken by Phonny and Madeline
for a drive. When Phonny and Madeline found themselves riding quietly
along in the waggon in Beechnut's company, the first thought which
occurred to them, after the interest and excitement awakened by the
setting out had passed in some measure away, was that they would ask
him to tell them a story. This was a request which they almost always
made in similar circumstances. In all their rides and rambles
Beechnut's stories were an unfailing resource, furnishing them with an
inexhaustible fund of amusement sometimes, and sometimes of
instruction.
"Well," said Beechnut, in answer to their request, "I will tell you
now about my voyage across the Atlantic Ocean."
"Yes," exclaimed Madeline, "I should like to hear about that very much
indeed."
"Shall I tell the story to you just as it was," asked Beechnut, "as a
sober matter of fact, or shall I embellish it a little?"
"I don't know what you mean by embellishing it," said Madeline.
"Why, not telling exactly what is true," said Beechnut, "but inventing
something to add to it, to make it interesting."
"I want to have it true," said Madeline, "and interesting, too."
"But sometimes," replied Beechnut, "interesting things don't happen,
and in such cases, if we should only relate what actually does happen,
the story would be likely to be dull."
"I think you had better embellish the story a little," said Phonny--"just
a _little_, you know."
"I don't think I can do that very well," replied Beechnut. "If I
attempt to relate the actual facts, I depend simply on my memory, and
I can confine myself to what my memory teaches; but if I undertake to
follow my invention, I must go wherever it leads me."
"Well," said Phonny, "I think you had better embellish the story, at
any rate, for I want it to be interesting."
"So do I," said Madeline.
"Then," said Beechnut, "I will give you an embellished account of my
voyage across the Atlantic. But, in the first place, I must tell you
how it happened that my father decided to leave Paris and come to
America. It was mainly on my account. My father was well enough
contented with his situation so far as he himself was concerned, and
he was able to save a large part of his salary, so as to lay up a
considerable sum of money every year; but he was anxious about me.
"There seemed to be nothing," continued Beechnut, "for me to do, and
nothing desirable for me to look forward to, when I should become a
man. My father thought, therefore, that, though it would perhaps be
better for _him_ to remain in France, it would probably be better for
_me_ if he should come to America, where he said people might rise in
the world, according to their talents, thrift, and industry. He was
sure, he said, that I should rise, for, you must understand, he
considered me an extraordinary boy."
"Well," said Phonny, "_I_ think you were an extraordinary boy."
"Yes, but my father thought," rejoined Beechnut, "that I was something
very extraordinary indeed. He thought I was a genius."
"So do I," said Phonny.
"He said," continued Beechnut, "he thought it would in the end be a
great deal better for him to come to America, where I might become a
man of some consequence in the world, and he said that he should enjoy
his own old age a great deal better, even in a strange land, if he
could see me going on prosperously in life, than to remain all his
days in that porter's lodge.
"All the money that my father had saved," Beechnut continued, "he got
changed into gold at an office in the Boulevards; but then he was very
much perplexed to decide how it was best to carry it."
"Why did he not pack it up in his chest?" asked Phonny.
"He was afraid," replied Beechnut, "that his chest might be broken
open, or unlocked by false keys, on the voyage, and that the money
might be thus stolen away; so he thought that he would try to hide it
somewhere in some small thing that he could keep with him all the
voyage."
"Could not he keep his chest with him all the voyage?" asked Phonny.
"No," said Beechnut; "the chests, and all large parcels of baggage
belonging to the passengers, must be sent down into the hold of the
ship out of the way. It is only a very little baggage that the people
are allowed to keep with them between the decks. My father wished very
much to keep his gold with him, and yet he was afraid to keep it in a
bag, or in any other similar package, in his little trunk, for then
whoever saw it would know that it was gold, and so perhaps form some
plan to rob him of it.
"While we were considering what plan it would be best to adopt for the
gold, Arielle, who was the daughter of a friend of ours, proposed to
hide it in my _top_. I had a very large top which my father had made
for me. It was painted yellow outside, with four stripes of bright
blue passing down over it from the stem to the point. When the top was
in motion, both the yellow ground and the blue stripes entirely
disappeared, and the top appeared to be of a uniform green colour.
Then, when it came to its rest again, the original colours would
reappear."
"How curious!" said Madeline. "Why would it do so?"
"Why, when it was revolving," said Beechnut, "the yellow and the blue
were blended together in the eye, and that made green. Yellow and blue
always make green. Arielle coloured my top, after my father had made
it, and then my father varnished it over the colours, and that fixed
them.
"This top of mine was a monstrous large one, and being hollow, Arielle
thought that the gold could all be put inside. She said she thought
that that would be a very safe hiding-place, too, since nobody would
think of looking into a top for gold. But my father said that he
thought that the space would not be quite large enough, and then if
anybody should happen to see the top, and should touch it, the weight
of it would immediately reveal the secret.
"At last my father thought of a plan which he believed would answer
the purpose very perfectly. We had a very curious old clock. It was
made by my grandfather, who was a clockmaker in Geneva. There was a
little door in the face of the clock, and whenever the time came for
striking the hours, this door would open, and a little platform would
come out with a tree upon it. There was a beautiful little bird upon
the tree, and when the clock had done striking, the bird would flap
its wings and sing. Then the platform would slide back into its place,
the door would shut, and the clock go on ticking quietly for another
hour.
"This clock was made to go," continued Beechnut, "as many other clocks
are, by two heavy weights, which were hung to the wheel-work by strong
cords. The cords were wound round some of the wheels, and as they
slowly descended by their weight, they made the wheels go round. There
was a contrivance inside the clock to make the wheels go slowly and
regularly, and not spin round too fast, as they would have done if the
weights had been left to themselves. This is the way that clocks are
often made.
"Now, my father," continued Beechnut, "had intended to take this old
family clock with him to America, and he now conceived the idea of
hiding his treasure in the weights. The weights were formed of two
round tin canisters filled with something very heavy. My father said
he did not know whether it was shot or sand. He unsoldered the bottom
from these canisters, and found that the filling was shot. He poured
out the shot, put his gold pieces in in place of it, and then filled
up all the interstices between and around the gold pieces with sand,
to prevent the money from jingling. Then he soldered the bottom of the
canisters on again, and no one would have known that the weights were
anything more than ordinary clock-weights. He then packed the clock in
a box, and put the box in his trunk. It did not take up a great deal
of room, for he did not take the case of the clock, but only the face
and the works and the two weights, which last he packed carefully and
securely in the box, one on each side of the clock itself.
"When we got to Havre, all our baggage was examined at the
custom-house, and the officers allowed it all to pass. When they came
to the clock, my father showed them the little door and the bird
inside, and they said it was very curious. They did not pay any
attention to the weights at all.
"When we went on board of the vessel our chests were put by the side
of an immense heap of baggage upon the deck, where some seamen were at
work lowering it down into the hold through a square opening in the
deck of the ship. As for the trunk, my father took that with him to
the place where he was going to be himself during the voyage. This
place was called the steerage. It was crowded full of men, women, and
children, all going to America. Some talked French, some German, some
Dutch, and there were ever so many babies that were too little to talk
at all. Pretty soon the vessel sailed.
"We did not meet with anything remarkable on the voyage, except that
once we saw an iceberg."
"What is that?" asked Madeline.
"It is a great mountain of ice," replied Beechnut, "floating about in
the sea on the top of the water. I don't know how it comes to be
there."
"I should not think it would float upon the top of the water," said
Phonny. "All the ice that I ever saw in the water sinks into it."
"It does not sink to the bottom," said Madeline.
"No," replied Phonny, "but it sinks down until the top of the ice is
just level with the water. But Beechnut says that his iceberg rose up
like a mountain."
"Yes," said Beechnut, "it was several hundred feet high above the
water, all glittering in the sun. And I think that if you look at any
small piece of ice floating in the water, you will see that a small
part of it rises above the surface."
"Yes," said Phonny, "a very little."
"It is a certain proportion of the whole mass," rejoined Beechnut.
"They told us on board our vessel that about one-tenth part of the
iceberg was above the water; the rest--that is, nine-tenths--was under
it; so you see what an enormous big piece of ice it must have been
to have only one-tenth part of it tower up so high.
"There was one thing very curious and beautiful about our iceberg,"
said Beechnut. "We came in sight of it one day about sunset, just
after a shower. The cloud, which was very large and black, had passed
off into the west, and there was a splendid rainbow upon it. It
happened, too, that when we were nearest to the iceberg it lay toward
the west, and, of course, toward the cloud, and it appeared directly
under the rainbow, and the iceberg and the rainbow made a most
magnificent spectacle. The iceberg, which was very bright and dazzling
in the evening sun, looked like an enormous diamond, with the rainbow
for the setting."
"How curious!" said Phonny.
"Yes," said Beechnut, "and to make it more remarkable still, a whale
just then came along directly before the iceberg, and spouted there
two or three times; and as the sun shone very brilliantly upon the jet
of water which the whale threw into the air, it made a sort of silver
rainbow below in the centre of the picture."
"How beautiful it must have been!" said Phonny.
"Yes," rejoined Beechnut, "very beautiful indeed. We saw a great many
beautiful spectacles on the sea; but then, on the other hand, we saw
some that were dreadful."
"Did you?" asked Phonny. "What?"
"Why, we had a terrible storm and shipwreck at the end," said
Beechnut. "For three days and three nights the wind blew almost a
hurricane. They took in all the sails, and let the ship drive before
the gale under bare poles. She went on over the seas for five hundred
miles, howling all the way like a frightened dog."
"Were you frightened?" asked Phonny.
"Yes," said Beechnut. "When the storm first came on, several of the
passengers came up the hatchways and got up on the deck to see it; and
then we could not get down again, for the ship gave a sudden pitch
just after we came up, and knocked away the step-ladder. We were
terribly frightened. The seas were breaking over the forecastle and
sweeping along the decks, and the shouts and outcries of the captain
and the sailors made a dreadful din. At last they put the step-ladder
in its place again, and we got down. Then they put the hatches on, and
we could not come out any more."
"The hatches?" said Phonny. "What are they?"
"The hatches," replied Beechnut, "are a sort of scuttle-doors that
cover over the square openings in the deck of a ship. They always have
to put them on and fasten them down in a great storm."
Just at this time the party happened to arrive at a place where two
roads met, and as there was a broad and level space of ground at the
junction, where it would be easy to turn the waggon, Beechnut said
that he thought it would be better to make that the end of their ride,
and so turn round and go home. Phonny and Madeline were quite desirous
of going a little farther, but Beechnut thought that he should be
tired by the time he reached the house again.
"But you will not have time to finish the story," said Phonny.
"Yes," replied Beechnut; "there is very little more to tell. It is
only to give an account of our shipwreck."
"Why, did you have a shipwreck?" exclaimed Phonny.
"Yes," said Beechnut. "When you have turned the waggon, I will tell
you about it."
So Phonny, taking a great sweep, turned the waggon round, and the
party set their faces toward home. The Marshal was immediately going
to set out upon a trot, but Phonny held him back by pulling upon the
reins and saying:
"Steady, Marshal! steady! You have got to walk all the way home."
"The storm drove us upon the Nova Scotia coast," said Beechnut,
resuming his story. "We did not know anything about the great danger
that we were in until just before the ship went ashore. When we got
near the shore the sailors put down all the anchors; but they would
not hold, and at length the ship struck. Then there followed a
dreadful scene of consternation and confusion. Some jumped into the
sea in their terror, and were drowned. Some cried and screamed, and
acted as if they were insane. Some were calm, and behaved rationally.
The sailors opened the hatches and let the passengers come up, and we
got into the most sheltered places that we could find about the decks
and rigging and tied ourselves to whatever was nearest at hand. My
father opened his trunk and took out his two clock-weights, and gave
me one of them; the other he kept himself. He told me that we might as
well try to save them, though he did not suppose that we should be
able to do so.
"Pretty soon after we struck the storm seemed to abate a little. The
people of the country came down to the shore and stood upon the rocks
to see if they could do anything to save us. We were very near the
shore, but the breakers and the boiling surf were so violent between
us and the land that whoever took to the water was sure to be dashed
in pieces. So everybody clung to the ship, waiting for the captain to
contrive some way to get us to the shore."
"And what did he do?" asked Phonny.
"He first got a long line and a cask, and he fastened the end of the
long line to the cask, and then threw the cask overboard. The other
end of the line was kept on board the ship. The cask was tossed about
upon the waves, every successive surge driving it in nearer and nearer
to the shore, until at last it was thrown up high upon the rocks. The
men upon the shore ran to seize it, but before they could get hold of
it the receding wave carried it back again among the breakers, where
it was tossed about as if it had been a feather, and overwhelmed with
the spray. Presently away it went again up upon the shore, and the men
again attempted to seize it. This was repeated two or three times. At
last they succeeded in grasping hold of it, and they ran up with it
upon the rocks, out of the reach of the seas.
"The captain then made signs to the men to pull the line in toward the
shore. He was obliged to use signs, because the roaring and thundering
of the seas made such a noise that nothing could be heard. The sailors
had before this, under the captain's direction, fastened a much
stronger line--a small cable, in fact--to the end of the line which
had been attached to the barrel. Thus, by pulling upon the smaller
line, the men drew one end of the cable to the shore. The other end
remained on board the ship, while the middle of it lay tossing among
the breakers between the ship and the shore.
"The seamen then carried that part of the cable which was on shipboard
up to the masthead, while the men on shore made their end fast to a
very strong post which they set in the ground. The seamen drew the
cable as tight as they could, and fastened their end very strongly to
the masthead. Thus the line of the cable passed in a gentle slope from
the top of the mast to the land, high above all the surges and spray.
The captain then rigged what he called a sling, which was a sort of
loop of ropes that a person could be put into and made to slide down
in it on the cable to the shore. A great many of the passengers were
afraid to go in this way, but they were still more afraid to remain on
board the ship."
"What were they afraid of?" asked Phonny.
"They were afraid," replied Beechnut, "that the shocks of the seas
would soon break the ship to pieces, and then they would all be thrown
into the sea together. In this case they would certainly be destroyed,
for if they were not drowned, they would be dashed to pieces on the
rocks which lined the shore.
"Sliding down the line seemed thus a very dangerous attempt, but they
consented one after another to make the trial, and thus we all escaped
safe to land."
"And did you get the clock-weights safe to the shore?" asked Phonny.