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clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out,’ Well done.’ and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest, upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish. 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 have become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs Fezziwig had gone all through the 42 Sons and Lovers
dance; advance and retire, both hands to 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 Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 43
Page 1 and 2: A Christmas Carol By Charles Dicken
Page 3 and 4: Stave 1: Marley’s Ghost M arley w
Page 5 and 6: wind that blew was bitterer than he
Page 7 and 8: you to be merry? What reason have y
Page 9 and 10: y Christmas. ‘Good afternoon!’
Page 11 and 12: ‘Under the impression that they s
Page 13 and 14: nose with a touch of such weather a
Page 15 and 16: in the city of London, even includi
Page 17 and 18: pan of gruel (Scrooge had a cold in
Page 19 and 20: It was long, and wound about him li
Page 21 and 22: ‘You see this toothpick?’ said
Page 23 and 24: It was a habit with Scrooge, whenev
Page 25 and 26: ‘Thank ‘ee!’ ‘You will be h
Page 27 and 28: had locked it with his own hands, a
Page 29 and 30: he could make out was, that it was
Page 31 and 32: wore a tunic of the purest white, a
Page 33 and 34: hand, was not to be resisted. He ro
Page 35 and 36: hanging in it. It was a large house
Page 37 and 38: ‘but it’s too late now.’ ‘W
Page 39 and 40: time tied on to the top of the chai
Page 41: cleared away, or couldn’t have cl
Page 45 and 46: in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes
Page 47 and 48: ‘You may — the memory of what i
Page 49 and 50: a fictitious turkey, glued on a woo
Page 51 and 52: Stave 3: The Second of the Three Sp
Page 53 and 54: and ceiling were so hung with livin
Page 55 and 56: the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour
Page 57 and 58: such glimpses. It was not alone tha
Page 59 and 60: ‘You would deprive them of their
Page 61 and 62: ‘Here’s Martha, mother.’ crie
Page 63 and 64: gravy (ready beforehand in a little
Page 65 and 66: and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood
Page 67 and 68: shadow on the party, which was not
Page 69 and 70: efore, dotting the dusky street wit
Page 71 and 72: low his breath to his companion of
Page 73 and 74: ‘Oh, I have.’ said Scrooge’s
Page 75 and 76: hands, without resorting to the sex
Page 77 and 78: posed, elicited from him that he wa
Page 79 and 80: ‘To-night.’ cried Scrooge. ‘T
Page 81 and 82: Stave 4: The Last of the Spirits T
Page 83 and 84: groups, and looked at their watches
Page 85 and 86: purpose, he set himself to consider
Page 87 and 88: had entered first. ‘Let the laund
Page 89 and 90: other sixpence, if I was to be boil
Page 91 and 92: He recoiled in terror, for the scen
Page 93 and 94:
tried, but in vain, to work with he
Page 95 and 96:
‘The colour hurts my eyes,’ she
Page 97 and 98:
‘Heartily sorry,’ he said,’ f
Page 99 and 100:
worthy place. Walled in by houses;
Page 101 and 102:
Stave 5: The End of It Y es! and th
Page 103 and 104:
oy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps h
Page 105 and 106:
the end of his nose off, he would h
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