There was nothing of high mark in this.They were not a handsome family;they were not well dressed;their shoes were far from being water-proof;their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known,and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But,they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another,and contented with the time; and when they faded,and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.
By this time it was getting dark,and snowing pretty heavily;and as Scrooge and the Spirit went along the streets,the brightness of the roaring fires in kitchens,parlours, and all sorts of rooms, was wonderful. Here,the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a cosy dinner,with hot plates baking through and through before the fire,and deep red curtains,ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness.There all the children of the house were running out into the snow to meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the first to greet them. Here, again, were shadows on the window-blind of guests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls, all hooded and fur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped lightly off to some near neighbour's house; where, woe upon the single man who saw them enter--artful witches, well they knew it--in a glow!
But, if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half-chimney high. Blessings on it, how the Ghost exulted!How it bared its breadth of breast,and opened its capacious palm, and floated on,outpouring, with a generous hand,its bright and harmless mirth on everything within its reach!The very lamplighter, who ran on before,dotting the dusky street with specks of light,and who was dressed to spend the evening somewhere,laughed out loudly as the Spirit passed,though little kenned the lamplighter that he had any company but Christmas!
And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost,they stood upon a bleak and desert moor,where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about,as though it were the burial-place of giants;and water spread itself wheresoever it listed,or would have done so,but for the frost that held it prisoner;and nothing grew but moss and furze,and coarse rank grass.Down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery red,which glared upon the desolation for an instant,like a sullen eye, and frowning lower, lower,lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.
"What place is this?" asked Scrooge.
"A place where Miners live,who labour in the bowels of the earth," returned the Spirit. "But they know me. See!"
A light shone from the window of a hut,and swiftly they advanced towards it.Passing through the wall of mud and stone,they found a cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire.An old, old man and woman,with their children and their children's children,and another generation beyond that,all decked out gaily in their holiday attire.The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song--it had been a very old song when he was a boy--and from time to time they all joined in the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his vigour sank again.
The Spirit did not tarry here,but bade Scrooge hold his robe,and passing on above the moor, sped--whither?Not to sea?To sea. To Scrooge's horror, looking back,he saw the last of the land,a frightful range of rocks, behind them;and his ears were deafened by the thundering of water,as it rolled and roared,and raged among the dreadful caverns it had worn,and fiercely tried to undermine the earth.
Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks,some league or so from shore,on which the waters chafed and dashed,the wild year through,there stood a solitary lighthouse.Great heaps of sea-weed clung to its base,and storm-birds --born of the wind one might suppose,as sea-weed of the water--rose and fell about it,like the waves they skimmed.
But even here, two men who watched the light had made a fire,that through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed out a ray of brightness on the awful sea. Joining their horny hands over the rough table at which they sat, they wished each other Merry Christmas in their can of grog; and one of them: the elder, too, with his face all damaged and scarred with hard weather, as the figure-head of an old ship might be: struck up a sturdy song that was like a Gale in itself.
Again the Ghost sped on,above the black and heaving sea --on, on--until,being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore,they lighted on a ship.They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel,the look-out in the bow,the officers who had the watch; dark,ghostly figures in their several stations;but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune,or had a Christmas thought,or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day,with homeward hopes belonging to it.And every man on board, waking or sleeping,good or bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him.
It was a great surprise to Scrooge,while listening to the moaning of the wind,and thinking what a solemn thing it was to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as Death: it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to recognise it as his own nephew's and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability!
"Ha, ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha, ha, ha!"
If you should happen, by any unlikely chance,to know a man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew,all I can say is, I should like to know him too.Introduce him to me,and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.
It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things,that while there is infection in disease and sorrow,there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour. When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: Scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.
"Ha, ha!Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
"He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!" cried Scrooge's nephew. "He believed it too!"
"More shame for him, Fred!" said Scrooge's niece, indignantly. Bless those women;they never do anything by halves.They are always in earnest.
She was very pretty: exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled,surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth,that seemed made to be kissed--as no doubt it was;all kinds of good little dots about her chin,that melted into one another when she laughed;and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head.Altogether she was what you would have called provoking,you know; but satisfactory, too. Oh,perfectly satisfactory.
"He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nephew,"that's the truth: and not so pleasant as he might be.However, his offences carry their own punishment,and I have nothing to say against him."
"I'm sure he is very rich, Fred," hinted Scrooge's niece."At least you always tell me so."