There were more dances, and there were forfeits,
and more dances, and there was cake, and there
was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold
Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled,
and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But
the great effect of the evening came after the
Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog,
mind! The sort of man who knew his business better
than you or I could have told it him!) struck up "Sir
Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to
dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a
good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or
four and twenty pair of partners; people who were
not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and
had no notion of walking.
But if they had been twice as many: ah, four
times: old Fezziwig would have been a match for
them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she
was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the
term. If that's not high praise, tell me higher, and I'll
use it. A positive light appeared to issue from
Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the
dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted, at
any given time, what would become of 'em next.
And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone
all through the dance; advance and retire, hold
hands with your partner, bow and curtsey;
corkscrew; thread-the-needle, and back again to
your place; Fezziwig cut -- cut so deftly, that he
appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his
feet again without a stagger.
When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball
broke up. Mr and Mrs Fezziwig took their stations,
one on either side of the door, and shaking hands
with every person individually as he or she went out,
wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When
everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they
did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices
died away, and the lads were left to their beds;
which were under a counter in the back-shop.
During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted
like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in
the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated
everything, remembered everything, enjoyed
everything, and underwent the strangest agitation.
It was not until now, when the bright faces of his
former self and Dick were turned from them, that he
remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that
it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its
head burnt very clear.
"A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these
silly folks so full of gratitude."
"Small!" echoed Scrooge.
The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two
apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in
praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,
"Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds
of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that
so much that he deserves this praise?"
"It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by the
remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former,
not his latter, self. "It isn't that, Spirit. He has the
power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our
service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say
that his power lies in words and looks; in things so
slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add
and count 'em up: what then? The happiness he
gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."
He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.
"What is the matter?" asked the Ghost.
"Nothing particular," said Scrooge.
"Something, I think?" the Ghost insisted.
"No," said Scrooge, "No. I should like to be able
to say a word or two to my clerk just now! That's
all."
His former self turned down the lamps as he gave
utterance to the wish; and Scrooge and the Ghost
again stood side by side in the open air.
"My time grows short," observed the Spirit.
"Quick!"
This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any
one whom he could see, but it produced an
immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He
was older now; a man in the prime of life. His face
had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but
it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice.
There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the
eye, which showed the passion that had taken root,
and where the shadow of the growing tree would
fall.
He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair
young girl in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes there
were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone
out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
"It matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very
little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can
cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would
have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."