SCENE II.--_Bob Cratchit's home. Mrs. Cratchit

discovered laying cloth. Belinda assisting her. Master Peter Cratchit blowing the fire._

_Mrs. C._ What has ever got your precious father, then? And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by half an hour?

_Enter Little Cratchit and Martha. Door in flat._

_Little C._ Here's Martha, mother! Here's Martha Hurrah! Oh, Martha, there's such a big goose at the bakers, next door. I smelt it cooking.

_Mrs. C._ Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are! (_Kissing her and taking off her bonnet and shawl._)

_Martha._ We'd a deal of work to finish up last night, and had to clear away this morning, mother.

_Mrs. C._ Well, never mind, so long as you are come. Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye.

_Little C._ No, no! There's father coming. Hide, Martha, hide. (_Martha gets behind the door._)

_Enter Bob Cratchit with Tiny Tim on his shoulder and little crutch in his hand. Spirit and Scrooge following, coming down front, and observing with interest all that passes._

_Bob._ Why, where's our Martha? (_Looking around and putting Tiny Tim down._)

_Little C._ Come, Tiny Tim, and see the pudding boil.

[_Exeunt children._]

_Mrs. C._ Not coming.

_Bob._ Not coming! not coming, on Christmas Day?

_Mar._ (_Running into his arms._) Dear father! I could not see you disappointed, if it were only in joke.

_Bob._ (_Embraces her._) You're a good girl, Martha, and a great comfort to us all. (_Commences to mix a bowl of punch._)

_Mrs. C._ And how did little Tim behave?

_Bob._ As good as gold, and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men see. Tiny Tim is growing strong and hearty.

_Enter Little Cratchit and Peter Cratchit with the goose, followed by Tiny Tim._

_Little C._ Hurrah! Hurrah! Here's Peter with the big goose.

_Tiny Tim._ Hurrah!

(_Children place chairs around the table; Bob puts Tiny Tim in a high chair beside him, and Peter on his left, facing front, Belinda and Little Cratchit opposite. Mrs. C. and Martha at the end of the table. Bob carves and serves the goose, Mrs. C. the gravy and mashed potatoes, and Martha the apple-sauce._)

_Little C._ Oh! oh! Look at the stuffing.

_Tiny T._ Hurrah!

_Bob._ I don't believe there ever was such a goose as this cooked. It's more tender than a woman's love, and only cost two and sixpence. A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us.

_All._ God bless us.

_Tiny T._ God bless us every one.

_Scro._ Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live?

_Spir._ I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney-corner and a crutch without an owner carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, none other of my race will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.

_Scro._ (_Hangs his head._) My very words.

_Spir._ Man--if man you be in heart, not adamant--forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die. It may be, in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child. Oh, Heaven! to hear the insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers of the dust!

_Mrs. C._ Now, Martha and Belinda, change the plates, while I bring the nuts, apples and oranges.

_Bob._ (_Rising and placing the punch-bowl on the table._) Here is what will remind us it is Christmas. (_Fills three tumblers and custard-cup without a handle, and passes them to Mrs. C., Peter and Martha._) I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the feast.

_Mrs. C._ The founder of the feast, indeed! I wish I had him here, I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it.

_Bob._ My dear, the children! Christmas Day.

_Mrs. C._ It should be Christmas Day, I am sure, on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert. Nobody knows it better than you, poor fellow.

_Bob._ My dear. Christmas Day.

_Mrs. C._ I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's, not for his. Long life to him. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt.

_All._ A Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

_Scro._ Spirit, take me away. I see the very mention of my name casts a gloom on what, were it not for me, would be a very happy party.

_Spir._ Wait; they will soon put the memory of you aside, and will be ten times merrier than before, and Tiny Tim will sing.

_Scro._ No, no; take me hence.

(_As they retire toward the door, the spirit shakes his torch toward the party, which restores good humor._)

_Little C._ Oh! we forgot the pudding!

_All._ The pudding! the pudding! (_Laughter and confusion._)