Різдвяна історія

           MasterScrooge’strunkbeingbythistimetiedontothetopofthechaise,thechildrenbadetheschoolmastergood-byerightwillingly;andgettingintoit,drovegailydownthegarden-sweep:thequickwheelsdashingthehoar-frostandsnowfromoffthedarkleavesoftheevergreenslikespray.

           ‘Alwaysadelicatecreature,whomabreathmighthavewithered,’saidtheGhost.‘Butshehadalargeheart.’

           ‘Soshehad,’criedScrooge.‘You’reright.Iwillnotgainsayit,Spirit.Godforbid.’

           ‘Shediedawoman,’saidtheGhost,‘andhad,asIthink,children.’

           ‘Onechild,’Scroogereturned.

           ‘True,’saidtheGhost.‘Yournephew.’

           Scroogeseemeduneasyinhismind;andansweredbriefly,‘Yes.’

           Althoughtheyhadbutthatmomentlefttheschoolbehindthem,theywerenowinthebusythoroughfaresofacity,whereshadowypassengerspassedandrepassed;whereshadowycartsandcoachesbattlefortheway,andallthestrifeandtumultofarealcitywere.Itwasmadeplainenough,bythedressingoftheshops,thatheretooitwasChristmastimeagain;butitwasevening,andthestreetswerelightedup.

           TheGhoststoppedatacertainwarehousedoor,andaskedScroogeifheknewit.

           ‘Knowit?’saidScrooge.‘Iwasapprenticedhere!’

           Theywentin.AtsightofanoldgentlemaninaWelshwig,sittingbehindsuchahighdesk,thatifhehadbeentwoinchestallerhemusthaveknockedhisheadagainsttheceiling,Scroogecriedingreatexcitement:

           ‘Why,it’soldFezziwig!Blesshisheart;it’sFezziwigaliveagain.’