"Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in
your name, or at least in that of your family," said
Scrooge.
"There are some upon this earth of yours,"
returned the Spirit, "who lay claim to know us, and
who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred,
envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are
as strange to us and all out kith and kin, as if they
had never lived. Remember that, and charge their
doings on themselves, not us."
Scrooge promised that he would; and they went
on, invisible, as they had been before, into the
suburbs of the town. It was a remarkable quality of
the Ghost (which Scrooge had observed at the
baker's), that notwithstanding his gigantic size, he
could accommodate himself to any place with ease;
and that he stood beneath a low roof quite as
gracefully and like a supernatural creature, as it was
possible he could have done in any lofty hall.
And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit
had in showing off this power of his, or else it was
his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his
sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to
Scrooge's clerk's; for there he went, and took
Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the
threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped
to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinkling of
his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen bob
a-week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but
fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the
Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed
house!
Then up rose Mrs Cratchit, Cratchit's wife,
dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but
brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a
goodly show for sixpence; 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 honour of the day) into his
mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired,
and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable
Parks. 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-onion, these young Cratchits danced
about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit
to the skies, while he (not proud, although his
collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the
slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the
saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.
"What has ever got your precious father then."
said Mrs Cratchit. "And your brother, Tiny Tim! And
Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by
half-an-hour!"
"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as
she spoke.
"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,"
replied the girl, "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 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.