Різдвяна історія

           HemayrailatChristmastillhedies,buthecan’thelpthinkingbetterofit—Idefyhim—ifhefindsmegoingthere,ingoodtemper,yearafteryear,andsayingUncleScrooge,howareyou.Ifitonlyputshimintheveintoleavehispoorclerkfiftypounds,that’ssomething;andIthinkIshookhimyesterday.’

           ItwastheirturntolaughnowatthenotionofhisshakingScrooge.Butbeingthoroughlygood-natured,andnotmuchcaringwhattheylaughedat,sothattheylaughedatanyrate,heencouragedthemintheirmerriment,andpassedthebottlejoyously.

           Aftertea,theyhadsomemusic.Fortheywereamusicalfamily,andknewwhattheywereabout,whentheysungaGleeorCatch,Icanassureyou:especiallyTopper,whocouldgrowlawayinthebasslikeagoodone,andneverswellthelargeveinsinhisforehead,orgetredinthefaceoverit.Scrooge’snieceplayedwellupontheharp;andplayedamongothertunesasimplelittleair(amerenothing:youmightlearntowhistleitintwominutes),whichhadbeenfamiliartothechildwhofetchedScroogefromtheboarding-school,ashehadbeenremindedbytheGhostofChristmasPast.Whenthisstrainofmusicsounded,allthethingsthatGhosthadshownhim,cameuponhismind;hesoftenedmoreandmore;andthoughtthatifhecouldhavelistenedtoitoften,yearsago,hemighthavecultivatedthekindnessesoflifeforhisownhappinesswithhisownhands,withoutresortingtothesexton’sspadethatburiedJacobMarley.

           Buttheydidn’tdevotethewholeeveningtomusic.