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DICKENS' STORIES ABOUT CHILDREN EVERY CHILD CAN READ
Edited by
REV. JESSE LYMAN HURLBUT, D.D.
[Illustration: CHARLES DICKENS.]
Illustrated
[Illustration: Every Child's Library]
The John C. Winston Co.
Philadelphia
Copyright, 1909, By
The John C. Winston Co.
PREFACE.
TO THE YOUNG READER:
Charles Dickens was one of the greatest among the many story-writers of
"the Victorian age;" that is, the middle and latter part of the
Nineteenth Century, when Victoria was Queen of Great Britain. Perhaps he
was the greatest of them all for now, a generation after he passed away,
more people read the stories of Dickens than those by any other author
of that period. In those wonderful writings are found many pictures of
child-life connected with the plan of the novels or stories. These
child-stories have been taken out of their connections and are told by
themselves in this volume. By and by you will read for yourselves, "The
Christmas Carol," "The Chimes," "David Copperfield," "The Old Curiosity
Shop," and the other great books by that fascinating writer, who saw
people whom nobody else ever saw, and made them real. When you read
those books you will meet again these charming children, and will
remember them as the friends of your childhood.
JESSE L. HURLBUT.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
TROTTY VECK AND MEG. _From "The Chimes"_ 9
TINY TIM. _From "Christmas Carol"_ 24
THE RUNAWAY COUPLE. _From "The Holly-Tree Inn"_ 34
LITTLE DORRIT. _From "Little Dorrit"_ 49
THE TOY-MAKER AND HIS BLIND DAUGHTER. _From
"Cricket on the Hearth"_ 68
LITTLE NELL. _From "The Old Curiosity Shop"_ 86
LITTLE DAVID COPPERFIELD. _From "David
Copperfield"_ 123
JENNY WREN. _From "Our Mutual Friend"_ 178
PIP'S ADVENTURE. _From "Great Expectations"_ 185
TODGERS' 196
DICK SWIVELLER AND THE MARCHIONESS 219
MR. WARDLE'S SERVANT JOE 233
THE BRAVE AND HONEST BOY, OLIVER TWIST 248
ILLUSTRATIONS.
CHARLES DICKENS _Frontispiece_
PAGE
"THEY BROKE IN LIKE A GRACE, MY DEAR." 13
"MR. CLENNAM FOLLOWED HER HOME." 65
LITTLE NELL AND HER GRANDFATHER 86
DAVID COPPERFIELD AND LITTLE EM'LY 131
SEATED ON THE CRYSTAL CARPET WERE TWO GIRLS 179
"KEEP STILL, YOU LITTLE IMP, OR I'LL CUT YOUR
THROAT." 185
"MR. TUPMAN, WE ARE OBSERVED!" 240
I.
TROTTY VECK AND HIS DAUGHTER MEG.
"TROTTY" seems a strange name for an old man, but it was given to Toby
Veck because of his always going at a trot to do his errands; for he was
a ticket porter or messenger and his office was to take letters and
messages for people who were in too great a hurry to send them by post,
which in those days was neither so cheap nor so quick as it is now. He
did not earn very much, and had to be out in all weathers and all day
long. But Toby was of a cheerful disposition, and looked on the bright
side of everything, and was grateful for any small mercies that came in
his way; and so was happier than many people who never knew what it is
to be hungry or in want of comforts. His greatest joy was his dear,
bright, pretty daughter Meg, who loved him dearly.
One cold day, near the end of the year, Toby had been waiting a long
time for a job, trotting up and down in his usual place before the
church, and trying hard to keep himself warm, when the bells chimed
twelve o'clock, which made Toby think of dinner.
"There's nothing," he remarked, carefully feeling his nose to make sure
it was still there, "more regular in coming round than dinner-time, and
nothing less regular in coming round than dinner. That's the great
difference between 'em." He went on talking to himself, trotting up and
down, and never noticing who was coming near to him.
"Why, father, father," said a pleasant voice, and Toby turned to find
his daughter's sweet, bright eyes close to his.
"Why, pet," said he, kissing her and squeezing her blooming face between
his hands, "what's to-do? I didn't expect you to-day, Meg."
"Neither did I expect to come, father," said Meg, nodding and smiling.
"But here I am! And not alone, not alone!"
"Why you don't mean to say," observed Trotty, looking curiously at the
covered basket she carried, "that you----"
"Smell it, father dear," said Meg. "Only smell it!"
Trotty was going to lift up the cover at once, in a great hurry, when
she gaily interposed her hand.
"No, no, no," said Meg, with the glee of a child. "Lengthen it out a
little. Let me just lift up the corner; just a lit-tle, ti-ny cor-ner,
you know," said Meg, suiting the action to the word with the utmost
gentleness, and speaking very softly, as if she were afraid of being
overheard by something inside the basket. "There, now; what's that?"
Toby took the shortest possible sniff at the edge of the basket, and
cried out in rapture:
"Why, it's hot," he said.
But to Meg's great delight he could not guess what it was that smelt so
good.
"Polonies? Trotters? Liver? Pigs' feet? Sausages?" he tried one after
the other. At last he exclaimed in triumph. "Why, what am I a-thinking
of? It's tripe."
And it was.
"And so," said Meg, "I'll lay the cloth at once, father; for I have
brought the tripe in a basin, and tied the basin up in a
pocket-handkerchief; and if I like to be proud for once, and spread that
for a cloth, and call it a cloth, there's nobody to prevent me, is there
father?"
"Not that I know of, my dear," said Toby; "but they're always a-bringing
up some new law or other."
"And according to what I was reading you in the paper the other day,
father, what the judge said, you know, we poor people are supposed to
know them all. Ha, ha! What a mistake! My goodness me, how clever they
think us!"
"Yes, my dear," cried Trotty; "and they'd be very fond of any one of us
that _did_ know 'em all. He'd grow fat upon the work he'd get, that man,
and be popular with the gentlefolks in his neighborhood. Very much so!"
"He'd eat his dinner with an appetite, whoever he was, if it smelt like
this," said Meg cheerfully. "Make haste, for there's a hot potato
besides, and half a pint of fresh-drawn beer in a bottle. Where will you
dine, father--on the post or on the steps? Dear, dear, how grand we are!
Two places to choose from!"
"The steps to-day, my pet," said Trotty. "Steps in dry weather, post in
wet. There's greater conveniency in the steps at all times, because of
the sitting down; but they're rheumatic in the damp."
"Then, here," said Meg, clapping her hands after a moment's bustle;
"here it is all ready! And beautiful it looks! Come, father. Come!"
[Illustration: "They Broke in Like a Grace, My Dear."
Page 13]
And just as Toby was about to sit down to his dinner on the door-steps
of a big house close by, the chimes rang out again, and Toby took off
his hat and said, "Amen."
"Amen to the bells, father?"
"They broke in like a grace, my dear," said Trotty; "they'd say a good
one if they could, I'm sure. Many's the kind thing they say to me. How
often have I heard them bells say, 'Toby Veck, keep a good heart, Toby!'
A million times? More!"
"Well, I never!" cried Meg.
"When things is very bad, then it's 'Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job coming
soon, Toby!'"
"And it comes--at last, father," said Meg, with a touch of sadness in
her pleasant voice.
"Always," answered Toby. "Never fails."
While this discourse was holding, Trotty made no pause in his attack
upon the savory meat before him, but cut and ate, and cut and drank, and
cut and chewed, and dodged about from tripe to hot potato, and from hot
potato back again to tripe, with an unfailing relish. But happening now
to look all round the street--in case anybody should be beckoning from
any door or window for a porter--his eyes, in coming back again, saw Meg
sitting opposite him, with her arms folded, and only busy in watching
his dinner with a smile of happiness.
"Why, Lord forgive me!" said Trotty, dropping his knife and fork. "My
dove! Meg! why didn't you tell me what a beast I was?"
"Father!"
"Sitting here," said Trotty, in a sorrowful manner, "cramming, and
stuffing, and gorging myself, and you before me there, never so much as
breaking your precious fast, nor wanting to, when----"
"But I have broken it, father," interposed his daughter, laughing, "all
to bits. I have had my dinner."
"Nonsense," said Trotty. "Two dinners in one day! It ain't possible! You
might as well tell me that two New Year's days will come together, or
that I have had a gold head all my life, and never changed it."
"I have had my dinner, father, for all that," said Meg, coming nearer to
him. "And if you will go on with yours, I'll tell you how and where, and
how your dinner came to be brought and--and something else besides."
Toby still appeared not to believe her; but she looked into his face
with her clear eyes, and, laying her hand upon his shoulder, motioned
him to go on while the meat was hot. So Trotty took up his knife and
fork again and went to work, but much more slowly than before, and
shaking his head, as if he were not at all pleased with himself.
"I had my dinner, father," said Meg, after a little hesitation,
"with--with Richard. His dinner-time was early; and as he brought his
dinner with him when he came to see me, we--we had it together, father."
Trotty took a little beer and smacked his lips. Then he said "Oh!"
because she waited.
"And Richard says, father--" Meg resumed, then stopped.
"What does Richard say, Meg?" asked Toby.
"Richard says, father--" Another stoppage.
"Richard's a long time saying it," said Toby.
"He says, then, father," Meg continued, lifting up her eyes at last, and
speaking in a tremble, but quite plainly, "another year is nearly gone,
and where is the use of waiting on from year to year, when it is so
unlikely we shall ever be better off than we are now? He says we are
poor now, father, and we shall be poor then; but we are young now, and
years will make us old before we know it. He says that if we wait,
people as poor as we are, until we see our way quite clearly, the way
will be a narrow one indeed--the common way--the grave, father."
A bolder man than Trotty Veck must needs have drawn upon his boldness
largely to deny it. Trotty held his peace.
"And how hard, father, to grow old and die, and think we might have
cheered and helped each other! How hard in all our lives to love each
other, and to grieve, apart, to see each other working, changing,
growing old and gray. Even if I got the better of it, and forgot him
(which I never could), oh, father, dear, how hard to have a heart so
full as mine is now, and live to have it slowly drained out every drop,
without remembering one happy moment of a woman's life to stay behind
and comfort me and make me better!"
Trotty sat quite still. Meg dried her eyes, and said more gaily--that is
to say, with here a laugh and there a sob, and here a laugh and sob
together:
"So Richard says, father, as his work was yesterday made certain for
some time to come, and as I love him and have loved him full three
years--ah, longer than that, if he knew it!--will I marry him on New
Year's Day?"
Just then Richard himself came up to persuade Toby to agree to their
plan; and, almost at the same moment, a footman came out of the house
and ordered them all off the steps, and some gentlemen came out who
called up Trotty, and asked a great many questions, and found a good
deal of fault, telling Richard he was very foolish to want to get
married, which made Toby feel very unhappy, and Richard very angry. So
the lovers went off together sadly; Richard looking gloomy and downcast,
and Meg in tears. Toby, who had a letter given him to carry, and a
sixpence, trotted off in rather low spirits to a very grand house, where
he was told to take the letter in to the gentleman. While he was
waiting, he heard the letter read. It was from Alderman Cute, to tell
Sir Joseph Bowley that one of his tenants named Will Fern, who had come
to London to try to get work, and been brought before him charged with
sleeping in a shed, and asking if Sir Joseph wished him to be dealt
kindly with or otherwise. To Toby's great disappointment, for Sir Joseph
had talked a great deal about being a friend to the poor, the answer was
given that Will Fern might be sent to prison as a vagabond, and made an
example of, though his only fault was that he was poor. On his way home,
Toby, thinking sadly, with his hat pulled down low on his head, ran
against a man dressed like a country-man, carrying a fair-haired little
girl. Toby enquired anxiously if he had hurt either of them. The man
answered no, and seeing Toby had a kind face, he asked him the way to
Alderman Cute's house.
"It's impossible," cried Toby, "that your name is Will Fern?"
"That's my name," said the man.
Thereupon Toby told him what he had just heard, and said, "Don't go
there."
Poor Will told him how he could not make a living in the country, and
had come to London with his orphan niece to try to find a friend of her
mother's and to endeavor to get some work, and, wishing Toby a happy New
Year, was about to trudge wearily off again, when Trotty caught his
hand, saying--
"Stay! The New Year never can be happy to me if I see the child and you
go wandering away without a shelter for your heads. Come home with me.
I'm a poor man, living in a poor place; but I can give you lodging for
one night, and never miss it. Come home with me! Here! I'll take her!"
cried Trotty, lifting up the child. "A pretty one! I'd carry twenty
times her weight and never know I'd got it. Tell me if I go too quick
for you. I'm very fast. I always was!" Trotty said this, taking about
six of his trotting paces to one stride of his tired companion, and with
his thin legs quivering again beneath the load he bore.
"Why, she's as light," said Trotty, trotting in his speech as well as in
his gait--for he couldn't bear to be thanked, and dreaded a moment's
pause--"as light as a feather. Lighter than a peacock's feather--a great
deal lighter. Here we are and here we go!" And, rushing in, he set the
child down before his daughter. The little girl gave one look at Meg's
sweet face and ran into her arms at once, while Trotty ran round the
room, saying, "Here we are and here we go. Here, Uncle Will, come to the
fire. Meg, my precious darling, where's the kettle? Here it is and here
it goes, and it'll bile in no time!"
"Why, father!" said Meg, as she knelt before the child and pulled off
her wet shoes, "you're crazy to-night, I think. I don't know what the
bells would say to that. Poor little feet, how cold they are!"
"Oh, they're warmer now!" exclaimed the child. "They're quite warm now!"
"No, no, no," said Meg. "We haven't rubbed 'em half enough. We're so
busy. And when they're done, we'll brush out the damp hair; and when
that's done, we'll bring some color to the poor pale face with fresh
water; and when that's done, we'll be so gay and brisk and happy!"
The child, sobbing, clasped her round the neck, saying, "O Meg, O dear
Meg!"
"Good gracious me!" said Meg presently, "father's crazy. He's put the
dear child's bonnet on the kettle, and hung the lid behind the door!"
Trotty hastily repaired this mistake, and went off to find some tea and
a rasher of bacon he fancied "he had seen lying somewhere on the
stairs."
He soon came back and made the tea, and before long they were all
enjoying the meal. Trotty and Meg only took a morsel for form's sake
(for they had only a very little, not enough for all), but their delight
was in seeing their visitors eat, and very happy they were--though
Trotty had noticed that Meg was sitting by the fire in tears when they
had come in, and he feared her marriage had been broken off.
After tea Meg took Lilian to bed, and Toby showed Will Fern where he was
to sleep. As he came back past Meg's door he heard the child saying her
prayers, remembering Meg's name and asking for his. Then he went to sit
by the fire and read his paper, and fell asleep to have a wonderful
dream, so terrible and sad, that it was a great relief when he woke.
"And whatever you do, father," said Meg, "don't eat tripe again without
asking some doctor whether it's likely to agree with you; for how you
_have_ been going on! Good gracious!"
She was working with her needle at the little table by the fire,
dressing her simple gown with ribbons for her wedding--so quietly happy,
so blooming and youthful, so full of beautiful promise that he uttered a
great cry as if it were an angel in his house, then flew to clasp her in
his arms.
But he caught his feet in the newspaper, which had fallen on the hearth,
and somebody came rushing in between them.
"No!" cried the voice of this same somebody. A generous and jolly voice
it was! "Not even you; not even you. The first kiss of Meg in the New
Year is mine--mine! I have been waiting outside the house this hour to
hear the bells and claim it. Meg, my precious prize, a happy year! A
life of happy years, my darling wife!"
And Richard smothered her with kisses.
You never in all your life saw anything like Trotty after this, I don't
care where you have lived or what you have seen; you never in your life
saw anything at all approaching him! He kept running up to Meg, and
squeezing her fresh face between his hands and kissing it, going from
her backwards not to lose sight of it, and running up again like a
figure in a magic lantern; and whatever he did, he was constantly
sitting himself down in his chair, and never stopping in it for one
single moment, being--that's the truth--beside himself with joy.
"And to-morrow's your wedding-day, my pet!" cried Trotty. "Your real,
happy wedding-day!"
"To-day!" cried Richard, shaking hands with him. "To-day. The chimes are
ringing in the New Year. Hear them!"
They _were_ ringing! Bless their sturdy hearts, they _were_ ringing!
Great bells as they were--melodious, deep-mouthed, noble bells, cast in
no common metal, made by no common founder--when had they ever chimed
like that before?
Trotty was backing off to that wonderful chair again, when the child,
who had been awakened by the noise, came running in half-dressed.
"Why, here she is!" cried Trotty, catching her up. "Here's little
Lilian! Ha, ha, ha! Here we are and here we go. Oh, here we are and here
we go again! And here we are and here we go! And Uncle Will, too!"
Before Will Fern could make the least reply, a band of music burst into
the room, attended by a flock of neighbors, screaming, "A Happy New
Year, Meg!" "A happy wedding!" "Many of 'em!" and other fragmentary
good-wishes of that sort. The Drum (who was a private friend of
Trotty's) then stepped forward and said:
"Trotty Veck, my boy, it's got about that your daughter is going to be
married to-morrow. There ain't a soul that knows you that don't wish you
well, or that knows her and don't wish her well. Or that knows you both,
and don't wish you both all the happiness the New Year can bring. And
here we are to play it in and dance it in accordingly."
Then Mrs. Chickenstalker came in (a good-humored, nice-looking woman
who, to the delight of all, turned out to be the friend of Lilian's
mother, for whom Will Fern had come to look), with a stone pitcher full
of "flip," to wish Meg joy, and then the music struck up, and Trotty,
making Meg and Richard second couple, led off Mrs. Chickenstalker down
the dance, and danced it in a step unknown before or since, founded on
his own peculiar trot.
II.
TINY TIM.
IT will surprise you all very much to hear that there was once a man who
did not like Christmas. In fact, he had been heard on several occasions
to use the word _humbug_ with regard to it. His name was Scrooge, and he
was a hard, sour-tempered man of business, intent only on saving and
making money, and caring nothing for anyone. He paid the poor,
hard-working clerk in his office as little as he could possibly get the
work done for, and lived on as little as possible himself, alone, in two
dismal rooms. He was never merry or comfortable or happy, and he hated
other people to be so, and that was the reason why he hated Christmas,
because people _will_ be happy at Christmas, you know, if they possibly
can, and like to have a little money to make themselves and others
comfortable.
Well, it was Christmas eve, a very cold and foggy one, and Mr. Scrooge,
having given his poor clerk permission very unwillingly to spend
Christmas day at home, locked up his office and went home himself in a
very bad temper, and with a cold in his head. After having taken some
gruel as he sat over a miserable fire in his dismal room, he got into
bed, and had some wonderful and disagreeable dreams, to which we will
leave him, whilst we see how Tiny Tim, the son of his poor clerk, spent
Christmas day.
The name of this clerk was Bob Cratchit. He had a wife and five other
children besides Tim, who was a weak and delicate little cripple, and
for this reason was dearly loved by his father and the rest of the
family; not but what he was a dear little boy, too, gentle and patient
and loving, with a sweet face of his own, which no one could help
looking at.
Whenever he could spare the time, it was Mr. Cratchit's delight to carry
his little boy out on his shoulder to see the shops and the people; and
to-day he had taken him to church for the first time.
"Whatever has got your precious father and your brother Tiny Tim!"
exclaimed Mrs. Cratchit, "here's dinner all ready to be dished up. I've
never known him so late on Christmas day before."
"Here he is, mother!" cried Belinda, and "here he is!" cried the other
children.
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 just as well as possible; 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 dropping 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 sooner than had been agreed upon 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 kettle.
"And how did Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit.
"As good as gold and better," replied his father. "I think, wife, the
child gets thoughtful, sitting at home so much. He told me, coming home,
that he hoped the people in church who saw he was a cripple, would be
pleased to remember on Christmas day who it was who made the lame to
walk."
"Bless his sweet heart!" said the mother in a trembling voice, and the
father's voice trembled, too, as he remarked that "Tiny Tim was growing
strong and hearty at last."
His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny
Tim before another word was spoken, led by his brother and sister to his
stool beside the fire; while Bob, Master Peter, and the two young
Cratchits (who seemed to be everywhere at once) 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 perfect marvel, 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 tremendous 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 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 that! Yet everyone had
had enough, and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, were steeped in
sage and onions 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 up the pudding 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 back yard 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.
Halloo! 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' 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 lighted brandy, and decorated 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 a small pudding for a large family. It would have been really wicked
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 hot stuff in the jug being tasted, and
considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a
shovel full 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 everyone!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
Now I told you that Mr. Scrooge had some disagreeable and wonderful
dreams on Christmas eve, and so he had; and in one of them he dreamt
that a Christmas spirit showed him his clerk's home; he saw them all
gathered round the fire, and heard them drink his health, and Tiny Tim's
song, and he took special note of Tiny Tim himself.
How Mr. Scrooge spent Christmas day we do not know. He may have remained
in bed, having a cold, but on Christmas night he had more dreams, and
in one of his dreams the spirit took him again to his clerk's poor home.
The mother was doing some needlework, seated by the table, a tear
dropped on it now and then, and she said, poor thing, that the work,
which was black, hurt her eyes. The children sat, sad and silent, about
the room, except Tiny Tim, who was not there. Upstairs the father, with
his face hidden in his hands, sat beside a little bed, on which lay a
tiny figure, white and still. "My little child, my pretty little child,"
he sobbed, as the tears fell through his fingers on to the floor. "Tiny
Tim died because his father was too poor to give him what was necessary
to make him well; _you_ kept him poor;" said the dream-spirit to Mr.
Scrooge. The father kissed the cold, little face on the bed, and went
downstairs, where the sprays of holly still remained about the humble
room; and taking his hat, went out, with a wistful glance at the little
crutch in the corner as he shut the door. Mr. Scrooge saw all this, and
many more things as strange and sad, the spirit took care of that; but,
wonderful to relate, he woke the next morning feeling a different
man--feeling as he had never felt in his life before. For after all, you
know that what he had seen was no more than a dream; he knew that Tiny
Tim was not dead, and Scrooge was resolved that Tiny Tim should not die
if he could help it.
"Why, I am as light as a feather, and as happy as an angel, and as merry
as a schoolboy," Scrooge said to himself as he skipped into the next
room to breakfast and threw on all the coals at once, and put two lumps
of sugar in his tea. "I hope everybody had a merry Christmas, and here's
a happy New Year to all the world."
On that morning, the day after Christmas poor Bob Cratchit crept into
the office a few minutes late, expecting to be roundly abused and
scolded for it, but no such thing; his master was there with his back to
a good fire, and actually smiling, and he shook hands with his clerk,
telling him heartily he was going to raise his salary and asking quite
affectionately after Tiny Tim! "And mind you make up a good fire in your
room before you set to work, Bob," he said, as he closed his own door.
Bob could hardly believe his eyes and ears, but it was all true. Such
doings as they had on New Year's day had never been seen before in the
Cratchits' home, nor such a turkey as Mr. Scrooge sent them for dinner.
Tiny Tim had his share too, for Tiny Tim did not die, not a bit of it.
Mr. Scrooge was a second father to him from that day, he wanted for
nothing, and grew up strong and hearty. Mr. Scrooge loved him, and well
he might, for was it not Tiny Tim who had without knowing it, through
the Christmas dream-spirit, touched his hard heart and caused him to
become a good and happy man?
III.
THE RUNAWAY COUPLE.
THE Boots at the Holly Tree Inn was the young man named Cobbs, who
blacked the shoes, and ran errands, and waited on the people at the inn;
and this is the story that he told, one day.
"Supposing a young gentleman not eight years old was to run away with a
fine young woman of seven, would you consider that a queer start? That
there is a start as I--the Boots at the Holly Tree Inn--have seen with
my own eyes; and I cleaned the shoes they ran away in, and they was so
little that I couldn't get my hand into 'em.
"Master Harry Walmers' father, he lived at the Elms, away by Shooter's
Hill, six or seven miles from London. He was uncommon proud of Master
Harry, as he was his only child; but he didn't spoil him neither. He was
a gentleman that had a will of his own, and an eye of his own, and that
would be minded. Consequently, though he made quite a companion of the
fine bright boy, still he kept the command over him, and the child _was_
a child. I was under-gardener there at that time; and one morning
Master Harry, he comes to me and says--
"'Cobbs, how should you spell Norah, if you was asked?' and then begun
cutting it in print, all over the fence.
"He couldn't say he had taken particular notice of children before that;
but really it was pretty to see them two mites a-going about the place
together, deep in love. And the courage of the boy! Bless your soul,
he'd have throwed off his little hat, and tucked up his little sleeves,
and gone in at a lion, he would, if they had happened to meet one and
she had been frightened of him. One day he stops along, with her, where
Boots was hoeing weeds in the gravel, and says--speaking up, 'Cobbs,' he
says, 'I like you.' 'Do you, sir? I'm proud to hear it.' 'Yes, I do,
Cobbs. Why do I like you, do you think, Cobbs?' 'Don't know, Master
Harry, I am sure.' 'Because Norah likes you, Cobbs.' 'Indeed, sir?
That's very gratifying.' 'Gratifying, Cobbs? It's better than millions
of the brightest diamonds to be liked by Norah.' 'Certainly, sir.'
'You're going away, ain't you, Cobbs?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Would you like
another situation, Cobbs?' 'Well, sir, I shouldn't object, if it was a
good 'un.' 'Then, Cobbs,' says he, 'you shall be our head-gardener when
we are married.' And he tucks her, in her little sky-blue mantle, under
his arm, and walks away.
"It was better than a picter, and equal to a play, to see them babies
with their long, bright, curling hair, their sparkling eyes, and their
beautiful light tread, a-rambling about the garden, deep in love. Boots
was of opinion that the birds believed they was birds, and kept up with
'em, singing to please 'em. Sometimes, they would creep under the Tulip
tree, and would sit there with their arms round one another's necks, and
their soft cheeks touching, a-reading about the prince and the dragon,
and the good and bad enchanters, and the king's fair daughter. Sometimes
he would hear them planning about having a house in a forest, keeping
bees and a cow, and living entirely on milk and honey. Once he came upon
them by the pond, and heard Master Harry say, 'Adorable Norah, kiss me,
and say you love me to distraction, or I'll jump in headforemost.' And
Boots made no question he would have done it, if she hadn't done as he
asked her.
"'Cobbs,' says Master Harry, one evening, when Cobbs was watering the
flowers, 'I am going on a visit, this present mid-summer, to my
grandmamma's at York.'
"'Are you, indeed, sir? I hope you'll have a pleasant time. I am going
into Yorkshire myself when I leave here.'
"'Are you going to your grandmamma's, Cobbs?'
"'No, sir. I haven't got such a thing.'
"'Not as a grandmamma, Cobbs?'
"'No, sir.'
"The boy looked on at the watering of the flowers for a little while and
then said, 'I shall be very glad, indeed, to go, Cobbs--Norah's going.'
"'You'll be all right then, sir,' says Cobbs, 'with your beautiful
sweetheart by your side.'
"'Cobbs,' returned the boy, flushing, 'I never let anybody joke about it
when I can prevent them.'
"'It wasn't a joke, sir,' says Cobbs, with humility--'wasn't so meant.'
"'I am glad of that, Cobbs, because I like you! you know, and you're
going to live with us, Cobbs.
"'Sir.'
"'What do you think my grandmamma gives me, when I go down there?'
"'I couldn't so much as make a guess, sir.'
"'A Bank of England five-pound note, Cobbs.'[A]
"'Whew!' says Cobbs, 'that's a spanking sum of money, Master Harry.'
"'A person could do a great deal with such a sum of money as that.
Couldn't a person, Cobbs?'
"'I believe you, sir!'
"'Cobbs,' said the boy, 'I'll tell you a secret. At Norah's house they
have been joking her about me, and pretending to laugh at our being
engaged. Pretending to make game of it, Cobbs!'
"'Such, sir,' says Cobbs, 'is the wickedness of human natur'.'
"The boy, looking exactly like his father, stood for a few minutes with
his glowing face towards the sunset, and then departed with, 'Good
night, Cobbs. I'm going in.'
"I was the Boots at the Holly Tree Inn when one summer afternoon the
coach drives up, and out of the coach gets these two children.
"The guard says to our governor, the inn-keeper, 'I don't quite make out
these little passengers, but the young gentleman's words was, that they
were to be brought here.' The young gentleman gets out; hands his lady
out; gives the driver something for himself; says to our governor,
'We're to stop here to-night, please. Sitting-room and two bedrooms will
be required. Chops and cherry-pudding for two!' and tucks her, in her
little sky-blue mantle, under his arm, and walks into the house much
bolder than brass.
"Boots leaves me to judge what the amazement of that establishment was
when those two tiny creatures, all alone by themselves, was marched into
the parlor--much more so when he, who had seen them without their seeing
him, gave the governor his views of the errand they was upon. 'Cobbs,'
says the governor, 'if this is so, I must set off myself to York and
quiet their friends' minds. In which case you must keep your eye upon
'em, and humor 'em, till I come back. But, before I take these measures,
Cobbs, I should wish you to find out from themselves whether your
opinions is correct.' 'Sir, to you,' says Cobbs, 'that shall be done
directly.'
"So Boots goes up stairs to the parlor, and there he finds Master Harry
on an enormous sofa a-drying the eyes of Miss Norah with his
pocket-hankecher. Their little legs were entirely off the ground of
course, and it really is not possible for Boots to express to me how
small them children looked.
"'It's Cobbs! It's Cobbs!' cries Master Harry, and comes running to him,
and catching hold of his hand. Miss Norah comes running to him on
t'other side, and catching hold of his t'other hand, and they both jump
for joy.
"'I see you a-getting out, sir,' says Cobbs. 'I thought it was you. I
thought I couldn't be mistaken in your height and figure. What's the
object of your journey, sir? Are you going to be married?'
"'We are going to be married, Cobbs, at Gretna Green,' returned the boy.
'We have run away on purpose. Norah has been in rather low spirits,
Cobbs; but she'll be happy, now we have found you to be our friend.'
"'Thank you, sir, and thank _you_, miss,' says Cobbs, 'for your good
opinion. Did you bring any luggage with you, sir?'
"If I will believe Boots when he gives me his word and honor upon it,
the lady had got a parasol, a smelling-bottle, a round and a half of
cold buttered toast, eight peppermint drops, and a hair-brush--seemingly
a doll's. The gentleman had got about half a dozen yards of string, a
knife, three or four sheets of writing-paper folded up surprisingly
small, an orange, and a china mug with his name upon it.
"'What may be the exact natur' of your plans, sir?' says Cobbs.
"'To go on,' replied the boy--which the courage of that boy was
something wonderful!--'in the morning, and be married to-morrow.'
"'Just so, sir,' says Cobbs. 'Would it meet your views, sir, if I was to
go with you?'
"When Cobbs said this, they both jumped for joy again, and cried out,
'Oh, yes, yes, Cobbs! Yes!'
"'Well, sir,' says Cobbs. 'If you will excuse my having the freedom to
give an opinion, what I should recommend would be this. I'm acquainted
with a pony, sir, which, put in a phaeton that I could borrow, would
take you and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr. (myself driving, if you agree), to
the end of your journey in a very short space of time. I am not
altogether sure, sir, that this pony will be at liberty to-morrow, but
even if you had to wait over to-morrow for him, it might be worth your
while. As to the small account for your board here, sir, in case you was
to find yourself running at all short, that don't signify, because I'm a
part proprietor of this inn, and it could stand over.'
"Boots tells me that when they clapped their hands and jumped for joy
again, and called him, 'Good Cobbs!' and 'Dear Cobbs!' and bent across
him to kiss one another in the delight of their trusting hearts, he felt
himself the meanest rascal for deceiving 'em that ever was born.
"'Is there anything you want just at present, sir?' says Cobbs, mortally
ashamed of himself.
"'We would like some cakes after dinner,' answered Master Harry, folding
his arms, putting out one leg, and looking straight at him, 'and two
apples--and jam. With dinner, we should like to have toast and water.
But Norah has always been accustomed to half a glass of currant wine at
dessert. And so have I.'
"'It shall be ordered at the bar, sir,' says Cobbs, and away he went.
"'The way in which the women of that house--without exception--everyone
of 'em--married and single, took to that boy when they heard the story,
Boots considers surprising. It was as much as he could do to keep 'em
from dashing into the room and kissing him. They climbed up all sorts of
places, at the risk of their lives, to look at him through a pane of
glass. They were seven deep at the key-hole. They were out of their
minds about him and his bold spirit.
"In the evening Boots went into the room, to see how the runaway couple
was getting on. The gentleman was on the window-seat, supporting the
lady in his arms. She had tears upon her face, and was lying, very tired
and half-asleep, with her head upon his shoulder.
"'Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr., tired, sir?' says Cobbs.
"'Yes, she is tired, Cobbs; but she is not used to be away from home,
and she has been in low spirits again. Cobbs, do you think you could
bring a biffin, please?'
"'I ask your pardon, sir,' says Cobbs. 'What was it you--'
"'I think a Norfolk biffin[B] would rouse her, Cobbs. She is very fond
of them.'
"Boots withdrew in search of the required restorative, and, when he
brought it in, the gentleman handed it to the lady, and fed her with a
spoon, and took a little himself. The lady being heavy with sleep, and
rather cross. 'What should you think, sir,' says Cobbs, 'of a chamber
candlestick?' The gentleman approved; the chambermaid went first, up the
great staircase; the lady, in her sky-blue mantle, followed, gallantly
led by the gentleman; the gentleman kissed her at the door, and retired
to his own room, where Boots softly locked him up.
"Boots couldn't but feel what a base deceiver he was when they asked him
at breakfast (they had ordered sweet milk-and-water, and toast and
currant jelly, overnight) about the pony. It really was as much as he
could do, he don't mind confessing to me, to look them two young things
in the face, and think how wicked he had grown up to be. Howsomever, he
went on a-lying like a Trojan, about the pony. He told 'em it did so
unfortunately happen that the pony was half-clipped, you see, and that
he couldn't be taken out in that state for fear that it should strike to
his inside. But that he'd be finished clipping in the course of the day,
and that to-morrow morning at eight o'clock the phaeton would be ready.
Boots' view of the whole case, looking back upon it in my room, is, that
Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr., was beginning to give in. She hadn't had her
hair curled when she went to bed, and she didn't seem quite up to
brushing it herself, and it's getting in her eyes put her out. But
nothing put out Master Harry. He sat behind his breakfast cup, a-tearing
away at the jelly, as if he had been his own father.
"After breakfast Boots is inclined to think that they drawed
soldiers--at least, he knows that many such was found in the fireplace,
all on horseback. In the course of the morning Master Harry rang the
bell--it was surprising how that there boy did carry on--and said in a
sprightly way, 'Cobbs, is there any good walks in this neighborhood?'
"'Yes, sir,' says Cobbs. 'There's Love Lane.'
"'Get out with you, Cobbs!'--that was that there boy's
expression--'you're joking.'
"'Begging your pardon, sir,' says Cobbs, 'there really is Love Lane. And
a pleasant walk it is, and proud I shall be to show it to yourself and
Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr.'
"'Norah, dear,' said Master Harry, 'this is curious. We really ought to
see Love Lane. Put on your bonnet, my sweetest darling, and we will go
there with Cobbs.'
"Boots leaves me to judge what a beast he felt himself to be, when that
young pair told him, as they all three jogged along together, that they
had made up their minds to give him two thousand guineas a year as
head-gardener, on account of his being so true a friend to 'em. Boots
could have wished at the moment that the earth would have opened and
swallowed him up; he felt so mean with their beaming eyes a-looking at
him, and believing him. Well, sir, he turned the conversation as well as
he could, and he took 'em down Love Lane to the water-meadows, and there
Master Harry would have drowned himself in half a moment more, a-getting
out a water-lily for her--but nothing frightened that boy. Well, sir,
they was tired out. All being so new and strange to 'em, they was tired
as tired could be. And they laid down on a bank of daisies, like the
children in the wood, leastways meadows, and fell asleep.
"Well, sir, they woke up at last, and then one thing was getting pretty
clear to Boots, namely, that Mrs. Harry Walmers', Jr., temper was on the
move. When Master Harry took her round the waist she said he 'teased her
so,' and when he says, 'Norah, my young May Moon, your Harry tease you?'
she tells him, 'Yes; and I want to go home!'
"However, Master Harry he kept up, and his noble heart was as fond as
ever. Mrs. Walmers turned very sleepy about dusk and began to cry.
Therefore, Mrs. Walmers went off to bed as per yesterday; and Master
Harry ditto repeated.
"About eleven or twelve at night comes back the inn-keeper in a chaise,
along with Mr. Walmers and an elderly lady. Mr. Walmers looks amused and
very serious, both at once, and says to our missis, 'We are very much
indebted to you, ma'am, for your kind care of our little children, which
we can never sufficiently acknowledge. Pray, ma'am where is my boy?' Our
missis says, 'Cobbs has the dear children in charge, sir. Cobbs, show
forty!' Then he says to Cobbs, 'Ah, Cobbs! I am glad to see _you_. I
understand you was here!' And Cobbs says, 'Yes, sir. Your most obedient,
sir.'
"I may be surprised to hear Boots say it, perhaps, but Boots assures me
that his heart beat like a hammer, going up-stairs. 'I beg your pardon,
sir,' says he, while unlocking the door; 'I hope you are not angry with
Master Harry. For Master Harry is a fine boy, sir, and will do you
credit and honor.' And Boots signifies to me that if the fine boy's
father had contradicted him in the daring state of mind in which he then
was, he thinks he should have 'fetched him a crack,' and taken the
consequences.
"But Mr. Walmers only says, 'No, Cobbs. No, my good fellow. Thank you!'
And the door being open, goes in.
"Boots goes in too, holding the light, and he sees Mr. Walmers go up to
the bedside, bend gently down, and kiss the little sleeping face. Then
he stands looking at it for a minute, looking wonderfully like it; and
then he gently shakes the little shoulder.
"'Harry, my dear boy! Harry!'
"Master Harry starts up and looks at him. Looks at Cobbs, too. Such is
the honor of that mite that he looks at Cobbs to see whether he has
brought him into trouble.
"'I am not angry, my child. I only want you to dress yourself and come
home.'
"'Yes, pa.'
"Master Harry dresses himself quickly. His breast begins to swell when
he has nearly finished, and it swells more and more as he stands
a-looking at his father; his father standing a-looking at him, the quiet
image of him.
"'Please may I'--the spirit of that little creatur', and the way he kept
his rising tears down!--'Please, dear pa--may I--kiss Norah before I
go?'
"'You may, my child.'
"So he takes Master Harry in his hand, and Boots leads the way with the
candle, and they come to that other bedroom; where the elderly lady is
seated by the bed, and poor little Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr., is fast
asleep. There the father lifts the child up to the pillow, and he lays
his little face down for an instant by the little warm face of poor
unconscious little Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr., and gently draws it to
him--a sight so touching to the chambermaids who are peeping through the
door that one of them calls out, 'It's a shame to part 'em!' But this
chambermaid was always, as Boots informs me, a soft-hearted one. Not
that there was any harm in that girl. Far from it."
FOOTNOTES:
[A] For the benefit of some of our young readers, it may be well to
explain that this is about the same as a bill of twenty-five dollars
would be in America.
[B] A biffin is a red apple, growing near Norfolk, and generally eaten
after having been baked.
IV.
LITTLE DORRIT.