Рождественская история

           Therewasanearthysavourintheair,achillybarenessintheplace,whichassociateditselfsomehowwithtoomuchgettingupbycandle-light,andnottoomuchtoeat.

           Theywent,theGhostandScrooge,acrossthehall,toadooratthebackofthehouse.Itopenedbeforethem,anddisclosedalong,bare,melancholyroom,madebarerstillbylinesofplaindealformsanddesks.Atoneofthesealonelyboywasreadingnearafeeblefire;andScroogesatdownuponaform,andwepttoseehispoorforgottenselfasheusedtobe.

           Notalatentechointhehouse,notasqueakandscufflefromthemicebehindthepanelling,notadripfromthehalf-thawedwater-spoutinthedullyardbehind,notasighamongtheleaflessboughsofonedespondentpoplar,nottheidleswingingofanemptystore-housedoor,no,notaclickinginthefire,butfellupontheheartofScroogewithasofteninginfluence,andgaveafreerpassagetohistears.

           TheSpirittouchedhimonthearm,andpointedtohisyoungerself,intentuponhisreading.Suddenlyaman,inforeigngarments:wonderfullyrealanddistincttolookat:stoodoutsidethewindow,withanaxestuckinhisbelt,andleadingbythebridleanassladenwithwood.

           ‘Why,it’sAliBaba.’Scroogeexclaimedinecstasy.‘It’sdearoldhonestAliBaba.Yes,yes,Iknow.OneChristmastime,whenyondersolitarychildwaslefthereallalone,hedidcome,forthefirsttime,justlikethat.Poorboy.AndValentine,’saidScrooge,‘andhiswildbrother,Orson;theretheygo.