"His blankets?" asked Joe.
"Whose else's do you think?" replied the woman.
"He isn't likely to take cold without 'em, I dare say."
"I hope he didn't die of any thing catching? Eh?"
said old Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.
"Don't you be afraid of that," returned the
woman. "I an't so fond of his company that I'd loiter
about him for such things, if he did. Ah! you may
look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you
won't find a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It's
the best he had, and a fine one too. They'd have
wasted it, if it hadn't been for me."
"What do you call wasting of it?" asked old Joe.
"Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure,"
replied the woman with a laugh. "Somebody was fool
enough to do it, but I took it off again. If calico an't
good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good
enough for anything. It's quite as becoming to the
body. He can't look uglier than he did in that one."
Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As
they sat grouped about their spoil, in the scanty
light afforded by the old man's lamp, he viewed them
with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly
have been greater, though they had been obscene
demons, marketing the corpse itself.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the same woman, when old Joe,
producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out
their several gains upon the ground. "This is the end
of it, you see! He frightened every one away from
him when he was alive, to profit us when he was
dead! Ha, ha, ha!"
"Spirit!" said Scrooge, shuddering from head to
foot. "I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man
might be my own. My life tends that way, now.
Merciful Heaven, what is this!"
He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed,
and now he almost touched a bed: a bare,
uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet,
there lay a something covered up, which, though it
was dumb, announced itself in awful language.
The room was very dark, too dark to be observed
with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it
in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know
what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the
outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it,
plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared
for, was the body of this man.
Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its
steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover
was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising
of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part,
would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt
how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but
had no more power to withdraw the veil than to
dismiss the spectre at his side.
Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine
altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou
hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But
of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou
canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or
make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is
heavy and will fall down when released; it is not
that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand
was open, generous, and true; the heart brave,
warm, and tender; and the pulse a man's. Strike,
Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing
from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal.
No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's
ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon
the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised up
now, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice,
hard-dealing, griping cares? They have brought him
to a rich end, truly!
He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man,
a woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me
in this or that, and for the memory of one kind word
I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door,
and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the
hearth-stone. What they wanted in the room of
death, and why they were so restless and disturbed,
Scrooge did not dare to think.
"Spirit!" he said, "this is a fearful place. In leaving
it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!"
Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to
the head.
"I understand you," Scrooge returned, "and I
would do it, if I could. But I have not the power,
Spirit. I have not the power."
Again it seemed to look upon him.
"If there is any person in the town, who feels
emotion caused by this man's death," said Scrooge
quite agonised, "show that person to me, Spirit, I
beseech you!"
The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for
a moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed
a room by daylight, where a mother and her children
were.
She was expecting some one, and with anxious
eagerness; for she walked up and down the room;
started at every sound; looked out from the
window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to
work with her needle; and could hardly bear the
voices of the children in their play.