STAVE III: THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS

It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had been amazingly transformed. The walls and ceiling were so covered with living green plants that it looked like a real little forest, with bright berries shining everywhere. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe and ivy reflected the light, as if hundreds of little mirrors had been scattered there. A mighty fire was roaring up the chimney. That dull, stony fireplace had never known such a blaze in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many, many winters before. Piled up on the floor to form a kind of throne were turkeys, geese, game birds, chickens and great joints of meat. There were young roast pigs, long chains of sausages, mince pies and plum puddings, and barrels of oysters. There were red-hot chestnuts, rosy-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, delicious pears, huge Christmas cakes, and steaming bowls of punch that filled the room with a delicious mist. On this couch sat a jolly Giant, comfortable and glorious to see. He carried a glowing torch shaped rather like a horn of plenty, the old sign of a rich harvest. He held it up, high up, to shine its light on Scrooge as he looked shyly around the door.

"Come in!" cried the Ghost. "Come in, and get to know me better, man!"

Scrooge came in shyly and hung his head before this Spirit. He was no longer the stubborn Scrooge he had been. Though the Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit. "Look at me!"

Scrooge respectfully did so. The Spirit was dressed in a single simple green robe with a border of white fur. This robe hung so loosely on the figure that its broad chest was bare, as if it refused to be protected or hidden by any trick. Its feet, which could be seen beneath the wide folds of the robe, were bare as well. On its head it wore nothing but a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free. They were as free as its friendly face, its sparkling eyes, its open hand, its cheerful voice, its relaxed manner and its joyful air. Around its waist was an old sword case, but there was no sword in it, and the ancient case was eaten away with rust.

"You have never seen anything like me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.

"Never," Scrooge answered.

"You have never gone out walking with the younger members of my family? I mean my older brothers, the Christmas Spirits of the years before me, for I am very young," the Ghost went on.

"I don't think I have," said Scrooge. "I'm afraid I haven't. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?"

"More than 1,800," said the Ghost.

"A huge family to provide for!" muttered Scrooge.

The Ghost of Christmas Present stood up.

"Spirit," said Scrooge humbly, "take me wherever you like. Last night I went out because I was forced to, and I learned a lesson which is working in me now. Tonight, if you have anything to teach me, let me benefit from it."

"Touch my robe!"

Scrooge did as he was told and held on tightly.

Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, chickens, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit and punch all disappeared at once. So did the room, the fire, the red glow and the hour of the night. They were standing in the city streets on Christmas morning. The weather was harsh, and people were scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their homes and from their roofs. This made a rough but lively and not unpleasant kind of music. The boys were wildly delighted to see the snow come thumping down into the road and burst into little snowstorms of its own.

The fronts of the houses looked quite black, and the windows even blacker, against the smooth white sheet of snow on the roofs. The snow on the ground was dirtier. The heavy wheels of carts and wagons had cut deep tracks into it. Where the great streets branched off, these tracks crossed each other hundreds of times. They made a complicated pattern of channels that was hard to follow in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the narrowest streets were filled with a dirty mist, half melted and half frozen. Its heavier parts fell to the ground like a shower of black dust. It was as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had agreed to catch fire at once and were blazing away happily. There was nothing very cheerful about the weather or the town. And yet there was a feeling of cheerfulness in the air that the clearest summer day and brightest summer sun could never have created.

The people shoveling snow on the rooftops were jolly and full of fun. They called out to each other from the edges of the roofs. Now and then they threw a playful snowball, which was much kinder than a lot of clever jokes. They laughed heartily if it hit and just as heartily if it missed. The poultry shops were still half open, and the fruit shops were shining in all their glory. There were great round baskets of chestnuts, as round and fat as the bellies of jolly old gentlemen. They leaned against the doors and spilled out into the street in their fat richness. There were reddish-brown Spanish onions, as fat and round as Spanish monks, and just as shiny. It was almost as if they were winking from their shelves at the girls going by, who glanced shyly at the mistletoe hanging up. There were pears and apples piled high in beautiful pyramids. There were bunches of grapes that the kind shopkeepers had hung from hooks where everyone could see them, so that people's mouths might water for free as they passed. There were piles of brown, mossy hazelnuts. Their smell reminded people of old walks in the woods and of happily shuffling ankle-deep through dry leaves. There were short, dark red apples from Norfolk that made the yellow of the oranges and lemons look even brighter. Their round, juicy bodies seemed to beg to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. Even the goldfish and silverfish, set out in a bowl among these fine fruits, seemed to know that something was going on. Fish are usually dull, cold creatures, yet every one of them swam gasping round and round their little world in slow, calm excitement.

The grocers' shops! Oh, the grocers' shops! They were nearly closed, with perhaps one or two shutters taken down, but what wonderful things you could see through those gaps! It was not only that the scales made a merry sound as they came down on the counter, or that the string flew so briskly off its roller. It was not only that the tins were rattled up and down like a juggler's tricks, or that the mixed smells of tea and coffee were so pleasant. It was not only that the raisins were so plentiful and fine, the almonds so white, and the cinnamon sticks so long and straight. The other spices were delicious, and the sugared fruits were so thickly covered with melted sugar that even the coolest onlookers felt faint and then rather sick. The figs were moist and soft, and the French plums looked rosy and sweet in their decorated boxes. Everything was good to eat and dressed for Christmas. But above all, the customers were so hurried and so eager about the happy day ahead. They bumped into each other at the door, crashing their baskets together. They left their shopping on the counter and came running back to get it. They made hundreds of mistakes like this, all in the best possible mood. Meanwhile the grocer and his assistants were so open and friendly that the shiny metal hearts that fastened their aprons might have been their own hearts. It was as if they wore them outside for everyone to see, and for Christmas birds to peck at if they liked.

But soon the church bells called all good people to church and chapel. Away they came, crowding through the streets in their best clothes and with their happiest faces. At the same time, countless people came out of dozens of side streets, lanes and nameless corners, carrying their dinners to the bakers' shops to be cooked. The sight of these poor people celebrating seemed to interest the Spirit very much. He stood in a baker's doorway with Scrooge beside him, and as the people passed, he lifted the covers off their dinners and sprinkled something sweet-smelling on them from his torch. It was a very unusual kind of torch. Once or twice, some of the people carrying dinners bumped into each other and exchanged angry words. Then he shook a few drops of water on them from it, and their good mood came back at once. For they said it was a shame to quarrel on Christmas Day. And so it was! God bless it, so it was!

After a while the bells stopped, and the bakers' shops were closed. And yet all these dinners and their cooking could still be pleasantly seen in the wet patch of melted snow above each baker's oven. There the pavement steamed as if its stones were cooking too.

"Is there a special flavor in what you sprinkle from your torch?" asked Scrooge.

"There is. My own."

"Would it work on any kind of dinner today?" asked Scrooge.

"On any dinner given kindly. On a poor one most of all."

"Why on a poor one most of all?" asked Scrooge.

"Because it needs it most."

"Spirit," said Scrooge, after thinking for a moment, "I'm surprised that you, of all the beings in all the worlds around us, should want to limit these people's chances of innocent enjoyment."

"I!" cried the Spirit.

"You would take away their chance to have a hot dinner on Sunday, the seventh day, which is often the only day they can really be said to have dinner at all," said Scrooge. "Wouldn't you?"

"I!" cried the Spirit.

"You want these bakeries to close on Sundays, don't you?" said Scrooge. "And that comes to the same thing."

"I want to!" exclaimed the Spirit.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong. It has been done in your name, or at least in the name of your family," said Scrooge.

"There are some people on this earth of yours," replied the Spirit, "who claim to know us. They do their acts of passion, pride, ill will, hatred, envy, prejudice and selfishness in our name. Yet they are as strange to us and all our family as if they had never lived. Remember that, and blame them for what they do, not us."

Scrooge promised that he would. They went on, invisible as before, into the outer parts of the town. The Ghost had a remarkable quality, which Scrooge had already noticed at the baker's. In spite of his gigantic size, he could fit into any place with ease. He stood under a low roof just as gracefully, and just as much like a supernatural creature, as he could have done in any grand hall.

Perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit took in showing off this power. Or perhaps it was his own kind, generous, warm nature and his sympathy with all poor men. Whatever the reason, it led him straight to the home of Scrooge's clerk. There he went, with Scrooge holding on to his robe. On the doorstep the Spirit smiled and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's home with a sprinkle from his torch. Think of that! Bob earned only fifteen shillings a week, and people called a shilling a "bob." Every Saturday he took home just fifteen coins with the same name as himself. And yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!

Then Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, got up. She was poorly dressed in an old gown that had twice been taken apart and sewn again inside out to make it look new. But she looked bright and smart in her ribbons, which are cheap and look very nice for sixpence. She laid the tablecloth with the help of Belinda Cratchit, her second daughter, who also looked smart in ribbons. Meanwhile Master Peter Cratchit stuck a fork into the pan of potatoes. He was wearing an enormous shirt collar, which belonged to Bob and had been lent to his son and heir for the day. Getting the corners of it into his mouth, he was delighted to be so finely dressed and longed to show it off in the fashionable parks. Now two smaller Cratchits, a boy and a girl, came running in. They were screaming that outside the baker's they had smelled the goose and known it was theirs. Enjoying rich thoughts of sage and onion stuffing, these young Cratchits danced around the table and praised Master Peter Cratchit to the skies. He was not proud, although his collar nearly choked him. He blew on the fire until the slow potatoes bubbled up and knocked loudly on the lid of the pan to be let out and peeled.

"Whatever has happened to your precious father?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha wasn't this late last Christmas Day, not by half an hour!"

"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. "Hooray! There's such a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit. She kissed her a dozen times and eagerly took off her shawl and hat for her.

"We had a lot of work to finish last night," replied the girl, "and we had to clear up this morning, mother!"

"Well! Never mind, as long as you're here," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit down in front of the fire, my dear, and get warm, Lord bless you!"

"No, no! Father's coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"

So Martha hid, and in came little Bob, the father. At least three feet of scarf, not counting the fringe, hung down in front of him. His worn-out clothes had been mended and brushed to look right for the holiday, and Tiny Tim was riding on his shoulder. Poor Tiny Tim! He carried a little crutch, and his legs were supported by an iron frame.

"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking around.

"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.

"Not coming!" said Bob, his high spirits suddenly falling. He had been Tim's racehorse all the way from church and had come home full of energy. "Not coming on Christmas Day!"

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, even as a joke. So she came out from behind the closet door too early and ran into his arms. Meanwhile the two young Cratchits hurried Tiny Tim off to the washroom, so that he could hear the pudding singing in the big pot.

"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, after she had teased Bob for believing her so easily, and Bob had hugged his daughter as much as he wanted.

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and he thinks the strangest things you ever heard. On the way home, he told me he hoped the people in church had seen him. Because he was lame, he thought, it might be nice for them to remember, on Christmas Day, how Jesus made lame beggars walk and blind men see."

Bob's voice shook when he told them this, and it shook even more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and healthy.

Before another word was spoken, they heard his busy little crutch on the floor. Back came Tiny Tim, led by his brother and sister to his stool in front of the fire. Bob turned up his cuffs, as if, poor man, they could possibly get any more worn out. He mixed a hot drink in a jug with gin and lemons, stirred it round and round, and put it on the stove to warm. Meanwhile Master Peter and the two young Cratchits, who seemed to be everywhere, went to fetch the goose. They soon came back with it in a grand procession.

There was such a fuss that you might have thought a goose was the rarest of all birds. They treated it as a feathered wonder, rarer even than a black swan, and in that house it really was something like that. Mrs. Cratchit heated the gravy, which was ready in a little pan, until it hissed. Master Peter mashed the potatoes with amazing energy, and Miss Belinda sweetened the apple sauce. Martha dusted the hot plates, and Bob sat Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner of the table. The two young Cratchits set out chairs for everyone, not forgetting themselves. Then they stood guard at their places, stuffing spoons into their mouths so that they wouldn't scream for goose before it was their turn. At last the dishes were put on the table and grace was said. Then came a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit looked slowly along the carving knife and prepared to plunge it into the breast. When she did, and the long-awaited rush of stuffing poured out, a murmur of delight rose all around the table. Even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife and weakly cried "Hooray!"

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe such a goose had ever been cooked. Everyone admired how tender and tasty it was, how big and how cheap. With the apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was enough dinner for the whole family. In fact, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight, looking at one tiny bit of bone left on the dish, they hadn't eaten it all in the end! Yet everyone had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular were covered in sage and onion up to their eyebrows! Now Miss Belinda changed the plates, and Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone to take the pudding out of the pot and bring it in. She was too nervous to have anyone watching.