They walked along the road; Scrooge recognising
every gate, and post, and tree; until a little
market-town appeared in the distance, with its
bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy
ponies now were seen trotting towards them with
boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in
country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these
boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each
other, until the broad fields were so full of merry
music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it.
"These are but shadows of the things that have
been," said the Ghost. "They have no consciousness
of us."
The jocund travellers came on; and as they
came, Scrooge knew and named them every one.
Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them!
Why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up
as they went past! Why was he filled with gladness
when he heard them give each other Merry
Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and
bye-ways, for their several homes! What was merry
Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas!
What good had it ever done to him?
"The school is not quite deserted," said the
Ghost. "A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is
left there still."
Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.
They left the high-road, by a well-remembered
lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red
brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted cupola,
on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large
house, but one of broken fortunes; for the spacious
offices were little used, their walls were damp and
mossy, their windows broken, and their gates
decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables;
and the coach-houses and sheds were over-run
with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its ancient
state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and
glancing through the open doors of many rooms,
they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast.
There was an earthy savour in the air, a chilly
bareness in the place, which associated itself
somehow with too much getting up by candle-light,
and not too much to eat.
They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the
hall, to a door at the back of the house. It opened
before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy
room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms
and desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading
near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a
form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he
used to be.
Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and
scuffle from the mice behind the panneling, not a
drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull
yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of
one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an
empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the
fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with a
softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his
tears.
The Spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed
to his younger self, intent upon his reading.
Suddenly a man, in foreign garments: wonderfully
real and distinct to look at: stood outside the
window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading an
ass laden with wood by the bridle.
"Why, it's Ali Baba! " Scrooge exclaimed in
ecstasy. "It's dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I
know! One Christmas time, when yonder solitary
child was left here all alone, he did come, for the
first time, just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine,"
said Scrooge, "and his wild brother, Orson; there
they go! And what's his name, who was put down in
his drawers, asleep, at the Gate of Damascus; don't
you see him! And the Sultan's Groom turned
upside-down by the Genii; there he is upon his head!
Serve him right. I'm glad of it. What business had he
to be married to the Princess!"
To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of
his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary
voice between laughing and crying; and to see his
heightened and excited face; would have been a
surprise to his business friends in the city, indeed.
"There's the Parrot!" cried Scrooge. "Green body
and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing
out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robin
Crusoe, he called him, when he came home again
after sailing round the island. "Poor Robin Crusoe,
where have you been, Robin Crusoe?" The man
thought he was dreaming, but he wasn't. It was the
Parrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for his
life to the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!"
Then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to
his usual character, he said, in pity for his former
self, "Poor boy!" and cried again.
"I wish," Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in
his pocket, and looking about him, after drying his
eyes with his cuff: "but it's too late now."
"What is the matter?" asked the Spirit.
"Nothing," said Scrooge. "Nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas Carol at my door last night.
I should like to have given him something: that's all."
The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its
hand: saying as it did so, "Let us see another
Christmas!"